So I wanted to post yesterday, but a long panic attack combined with being furiously busy prevented me from having enough time to finish a thought. Needless to say, I am deeply depressed about the whole thing.
I guess what I want to address today is the questionable purpose of money to a poor person. Now I have many nice things, but for the purpose of today's exercise we will call me "poor", if I may exercise the privilege
At present I have enough money to make it another two months. I'm sure this sounds quite relaxing.... but in actual fact I have no idea what I really have money for.
My parents have been helping with health and food items. Which is of course a blessing.
The thing is that I am at times a compulsive shopper. Sometimes I buy things to try and create a feeling of well being in myself.
Sometimes I work on things to make me feel relevant..... it's a compulsion..... I'm related to quite a few addicts, alcoholics, work a holics, a few stress a holics and even a few bona-fide druggies (I fit in at LEAST one of those).
Anyway, my current flavor of the month escape fantasy is working on my coat I'm getting for my birthday (even though I turned 26 over a month ago, shipping is slow). Correction, shipping isn't slow, I'm slow to get around to things. It took two months to get my dishwasher repaired (and it is! Pictures to follow). The coat I have wanted for some time is a wool trench coat. I think it started in high school. Somewhere along the line I became semi obsessed with ex military clothing. Part of the blame for that goes to boy scouts..... I would have joined the military just for the outfits..... but that's another story.
From the start I have wanted to personalize it.... trick it out. Clothing for me is like cars for most men... is it any wonder my friends question my sexuality (though what sex has to do with nifty outfits I'll never know).
So I have been agonizing over what I want to do and what I can do. Money is, as I already stated, tight. However things that give me pure joy sometimes manage to slipjaw past the thrifty part of my brain. In Freudian terms my superego has a softspot for my ID when my pain threshold reaches a certain point.
Which kind of says it all. The real utility of money is to accomplish things. What we will accomplish with it is yet to be seen.
I guess what I want to address today is the questionable purpose of money to a poor person. Now I have many nice things, but for the purpose of today's exercise we will call me "poor", if I may exercise the privilege
At present I have enough money to make it another two months. I'm sure this sounds quite relaxing.... but in actual fact I have no idea what I really have money for.
My parents have been helping with health and food items. Which is of course a blessing.
The thing is that I am at times a compulsive shopper. Sometimes I buy things to try and create a feeling of well being in myself.
Sometimes I work on things to make me feel relevant..... it's a compulsion..... I'm related to quite a few addicts, alcoholics, work a holics, a few stress a holics and even a few bona-fide druggies (I fit in at LEAST one of those).
Anyway, my current flavor of the month escape fantasy is working on my coat I'm getting for my birthday (even though I turned 26 over a month ago, shipping is slow). Correction, shipping isn't slow, I'm slow to get around to things. It took two months to get my dishwasher repaired (and it is! Pictures to follow). The coat I have wanted for some time is a wool trench coat. I think it started in high school. Somewhere along the line I became semi obsessed with ex military clothing. Part of the blame for that goes to boy scouts..... I would have joined the military just for the outfits..... but that's another story.
From the start I have wanted to personalize it.... trick it out. Clothing for me is like cars for most men... is it any wonder my friends question my sexuality (though what sex has to do with nifty outfits I'll never know).
So I have been agonizing over what I want to do and what I can do. Money is, as I already stated, tight. However things that give me pure joy sometimes manage to slipjaw past the thrifty part of my brain. In Freudian terms my superego has a softspot for my ID when my pain threshold reaches a certain point.
Which kind of says it all. The real utility of money is to accomplish things. What we will accomplish with it is yet to be seen.
No comments:
Post a Comment