I woke each day at five-forty-five, put on the coffee and went for a run. Invariably, Tycho — an earlier riser than his family — joined me as we pounded up and down the canyons, the fresh sea air putting a lie to the dirty metropolis just a few miles down the coast. By six-fifteen, Tycho and I were back at my place. He had started spending so much time there, I had food and water out for him so, after a run, I’d replenish his water. While he drank noisily I poured my coffee. By six-twenty we were in position: me at my computer, after a while so focused on my screen I barely noticed the beautiful drama unfolding outside my window; Tycho stretched out flat-sided in the middle of the living room, the occasional snore the only thing reminding me of his presence. I wasn’t trading yet. Not really. I was preparing. And preparations were going well. I’d established what I was now calling my “pretend portfolio,” tracking an increasing number of securities, marking purchases in as buys and sells on a special program I’d installed for the purpose, calculating in brokerage fees and all fluctuations just as though I were actually trading: only I wasn’t.
What do You think about Madeline Carter - 01 - Mad Money?
