Toilet Ruminations #6

Money is a continual worry for me. I am continually preoccupied by my lack of money. I have money but I feel like it is the kind of money that can run out at any moment. I do not make much money but seem to live better than someone who makes the money I do. I am not sure how all of this happens. How it works. It is like riding a skateboard straight down a hill and hoping you do not fall to the ground. I never know how it is that I have enough money. Is money growing someplace that I do not know about? I don’t work that much and I don’t seem to make the amount that I spend. Maybe this is my worry thinking. I have always worried about money. Since I became financially independent I have never felt like I had enough money. I have always felt that money could run out at any moment. I am like someone who drives with hands over eyes and hopes for the best. Hopes they will keep going for a while. I am not that concerned with making money but I like having it. I do little to make more money. I don’t like what I have to do to make money. So I rather have less money and not do the things I would have to do to make more money. Making money seems to me to be a pathetic pursuit in this life but money is so necessary. I need money. I worry about not having enough money. I avoid paying my bills and allow my self to get bad credit because I am worried about not having enough money for things I need now. I feel like a loser because I have not achieved a level of financial security. Men who worry about money like I do are impotent. Their power is gone. They feel weak in the knees. I often wonder what I would be like if I had more money. Would I feel more confident? Would my anxiety go away? Would I isolate less?  Yet I think the pursuit of money is a pathetic pursuit, which I have no interest in. Why am I so contradictory? I’m an oxymoron. A confused puzzle. I envy men who have made a lot of money doing things they love. Men who have been able to do their art and become financially secure from it. I sometimes feel suicidal because I am not one of them. I wish I could do this but I don’t think it is in the deck of cards for me. I am too isolated. I am too unmotivated. I am too distracted. I also live in the suburbs, which are not the best place for maintaining the inspiration needed to make it as an artist or writer. I am uninspired much more than I am inspired and I don’t think this is a good sign. With little ambition to make money (an unwillingness to really profit from my work like so many assholes do) I suppose I am doomed to this life of driving with my hands over my eyes and hoping things work out for the best. At least I am still in the car.

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