Why I love a gambler and not the schemer ....

I came across this poem today and I was blown away by its simple and stark reality....

Charles Bukowski: Gamblers All

sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, 

I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside 

remembering all the times you've felt that way, and 

you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face 

in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway, 

get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the 

newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your 

wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself, 

like millions of others you enter the arena once more. 

you are on the freeway threading through traffic now, 

moving both towards something and towards nothing at all as you punch 

the radio on and get Mozart, which is something, and you will somehow 

get through the slow days and the busy days and the dull 

days and the hateful days and the rare days, all both so delightful 

and so disappointing because 

we are all so alike and so different. 

you find the turn-off, drive through the most dangerous 

part of town, feel momentarily wonderful as Mozart works 

his way into your brain and slides down along your bones and 

out through your shoes. 

it's been a tough fight worth fighting 

as we all drive along 

betting on another day.