The Approval Matrix
MTM is evil. He feeds my desire to
throw money away travel by sending me subscriptions. Like my weekly New York Magazine.
Back in the day when flights were actually affordable, we went to New York City at least once a quarter. We could hop a flight at o’dark-thirty on a Saturday morning and be back home by Sunday night. Cheap flight. One night in a hotel. Two full days immersed in culture and food and noise and tall buildings.
These days, I am a sporadically-employed consultant and full-time unpublished novelist. MTM is a government worker. Flights cost a bazillion dollars, and the airlines have done away with all reasonable itineraries departing from our ‘only rich people go there’ tourist destination.
Still, I pine over my New York Mag. Every week, I savor its pages and congratulate myself on my penchant for high-brow trash. I close my eyes and dream of flying to New York for the weekend to buy crazy shoes in the East Village. And breathe in the subway smells. And rip apart the best new restaurant. And get a crick in my neck from looking up.
The Approval Matrix is an oracle of sorts for me. Mostly, I laugh at it, but a couple of weeks ago, I ripped it out and cried. Two things lined up just so, and all I could do was wipe my eyes and proclaim…….
It’s a sign.