We went from the barter system to the gold standard to, I don’t know, some other shit to just imaginary worth assigned to the thinly sliced guts of dead trees. Hot pursuit for the loot. Unless you are just a go-hard, fuck any and all repercussions type of person, which I am not, you have to first get neck deep in the system before you can be free of it. At least that’s how I see it. I could be missing something. I probably am missing something, and it is most likely simple, yet crucial. Maybe it will come to me in a dream. Sidebar, had a dream last night that I almost beat some dickhead teacher with a phonebook. I rarely have dreams that violent so I’m just as confused as you are. “He seems so peaceful” is what you’re probably thinking. And I am, which is why I was totally thrown off when I woke up. Anyway, back to the greenbacks and the reason for this entry. The saying ‘it takes money to make money’ could end up being the title of a chapter in my memoirs. If funds accumulated at the same rate as ideas, I would be waste deep in fabric pattern samples, silk screens, suede swatches and jars of hash oil. (Edibles rule all). Sadly, that is not the case. So here I am, with hundreds of ideas on paper, more plans than hours in a day and not enough dough to muzzle my impatience. Whiny bitch session over.
Fact of life: the more money you make, the more you spend. I was cleaning up last weekend and found a manila envelope with random paperwork and old pay stubs in it. Between 1999 and 2004, I think I had 6 different jobs. The common thread: shit pay. But somehow, I always had money to do random recreational shit, which mostly consisted of outlet shopping and excessive alcohol consumption (sorry liver). Nowadays, even though I’m making almost triple what I made at my highest paying crappy job, I somehow haven’t made any real advancements in terms of liquid assets. I saw a picture online and that’s what prompted this entry. Whether it was a spur of the moment picture or what, I don’t know but the thought of having more bread in my pocket excites me a lot more than just having an apartment full of merchandise. I feel like I’m just hoarding shit now. And I hate that, because it’s so pointless. In my heart, I know I can live with less, a lot less. I just haven’t figured out how to, yet. I wish there was an eBay brick and mortar store so I could just drop some shit off and come back 2 weeks later to pick up my profits.
I try not to let money be the source of my happiness. I try not to let money be the reason for my down days. I really try hard, but it’s fucking impossible to not let that tiny piece of paper sway my moods. With that being said, I have an interview for a part-time gig in one of Nike’s outlet stores tomorrow. So I’m just going to put this out in the universe, and see what happens: Hi Oregon. -chuckles-
Stand on my own, not who I stand next to
I was going to write an essay about the various types of bowel movements and the after effects of each one because yesterday I took a soul escaping one and my body didn’t feel normal for close to 3 hours. Post-apocalyptic poo’ing. Yeah, I was going to dive into that but woke up this morning and someone jacked my ipod out my car. Pretty sure they tried to get my head unit too but that’s bolted in so good it’s never coming out. I would have been more pissed if they had taken my sketch book and pencils. Checked my funds, NEGATIVE. Nobody is getting shit for this holiday. Not even myself. I feel so vulernable. Someone. Hold me.
I was reading this article and I want to bash my own skull in for being so gotdamn wasteful and overindulgent. I suppose it is a good way to start a work week, with a little motivation. Let’s see how long this “I’m Gonna Get My Shit Together” campaign is going to last. I do get paid tomorrow so the good intentions kayaking through me should still be lingering when it’s time to pay bills. Plus, I did a quick breakdown and figured I could be rid of all my credit card debt by the end of next month, or sooner if I choose to not do anything remotely fun for the next 7 weeks(excluding free things like sex and getting drunk on someone elses dime). But the flip side to it all is what’s the purpose, like, why am I trying to have a nice cushion in my savings? I guess for the near future, maybe, because the distant future is something I hardly ever think of nowadays. How much discretionary money is enough? Having the ability to do something is just as good as actually doing it, I suppose. It’s sort of like owning a lot of sneakers and knowing that you CAN wear a different pair every day for a couple months, but not doing it. The Available Option Life Factor: If I need it, I got it, so I’m content. Or some shit along those lines. I was at the bar with my homie, just talking shit and I said if they want us to believe that this piece of paper is worth something then I should be able to walk into a club with a broken branch and buy out the bar. I’m quite aware that the statement is one that’ll never leave the ‘in theory’ column, but I believe it to be true.