It’s considered unprofessional to be swayed when the world swings wildly or to react to every tick.. But, me, I’m still bursting with ups and crying on downs because the whole farm is bet everyday.
Hunks of dollar-sod go on the scales at dawn only to get sifted off at the close. This is one enervating job-hobby posing a built-in interruption in any other stream. Even as the Beatles sing my youth, the big board’s muttering about forward fates.
Out this window, desert winds are inviting me to dash along the sands — But until 4PM est I am sort of paralyzed by this on-going fickle flickering. My lips bleed, my throat aches, claw hands just won’t unclench until the Close.
It has been this way since May, when I wrested my pittance from a money manager hell bent on bonds… Those dull securities that verge on mirror writing. Can all prudence. There is something uber-boring about the pensioner’s favorite. Safe securities never move like the crushing, cruising speeder’s wheel of stocks.
Even as this is being written as a skylark, my white knuckles pale and blush at the positions screen. It has taken me 5 months to recoup what a certified money manager lost in a year.. And yesterday I almost went back to zero.
And, today is the day that all market watchers recall as a dark anniversary on the “Street of Dreams.” Not that this day is ever far from anyone’s mind. In the mid 1970’s, when I worked on Wall Street i saw this date chillingly memorialized on a specialist firm’s wall. They framed a murky Edward Steichen photo showing the depth of night on Wall Street. Matted below this print in a perfect window, was a yellow shred of ticker tape wishing everyone: “Goodnight..October 29, 1929.”