Trader Joe
The Grave Robber
I trade by day. Yeah, I’m a day trader. I trade commodities. Have you ever been on a floor of a commodities exchange? It’s totally insane. I guess that makes me insane. I do well enough to make a decent living. The stress of the job is not for the feeble-hearted.
By the end of my day, I only have one thought. It’s not about the good or bad trades I made. Or how much money I won or lost. It’s why the fuck do I torture myself doing this stuff daily? After seven years of riding this roller coaster, one would think one’s sanity would at some point become a priority.
My wife left me four months ago. She had enough of my manic-depressive episodes. Especially on those bad days when tens of thousands of dollars went poof. I know it sounds cold to say this, but I am happy for her. To be married to a day trader is just a subtle form of torture that grows more unbearable by the years.
With her no longer around I needed a distraction in my life. Something different and totally off the wall. Where I can work the night shift. Some of the things I considered were a dock worker at UPS, a janitor at the local hospital, a pizza delivery guy, and many more. They all had one thing in common. Set working hours.
I wanted flexibility. Something stress-free that I could do alone. Money wasn’t a priority but if I could…
