Buy Me a Ruby

money money money money money money money money money money money money money money money MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ money money money money money money money money money money money money money money money $$$$!^%#&^$@^@%$#^%@$# $$ $$ $$ $$$$$$ money money money money money money money money money money, money.. money.. .. gag ugh cough blahrgg spit choke die

Money. You have it, you want it, you need it, you love it. You do sort of need some of it to be happy, unless your version of happiness is starving to death dirty on the street. Which, I daresay, is no one's version of happiness. My version includes being comfortable, being able to eat, and not going to bed at night unable to shut my eyes with worry. Some people have far grander versions, others have far more simple aspirations, but all are equally as difficult to attain.

I want to be a peace with money. I want to cast my money worries away into the fires of Mordor, never to control me again. I'm still somewhere in Hobbiton though, hitting my head on the tiny doorjams of my own design. I still have my money problems, and may always, it's the cross we poor poor Americans bear. Boo hoo.

All at once I'm bitter and thankful and sarcastic. How is it possible?

I have been "poor" my whole life. Not real poor, not going hungry poor, not third world poor, but it's all comparison, right? So in my private school where everyone had money, I was poor. In my New England college where none of my friends had jobs but magically could do everything they wanted, I was poor. That engaged a tiny amount of bitterness. My upbringing, however, invited far larger amounts of gratefulness for the aforementioned blessings of not REALLY being poor. There's something about the struggle (at that point, my mother's struggle on my behalf) that illuminates greater truths. Before I had complex thoughts, I KNEW that I was enjoying all my toys more than my rich friends. Later, I was savoring my vacations, my paychecks, and my savings accounts like no one else I knew. (I still do this.) It also helped, in school, being smarter than some of those rich kids, because then all bets are off. I win. Library books are free motherfuckers!! Ha ha! So.. why do I still want money?

The truth I have come to discover is money CAN buy happiness, but it doesn't HAVE to. It won't necessarily make you happy, and you can be happy without it. It facilitates happiness. Makes it easier to eat, live, create, but not inherently possible.

I realized yesterday, in this great de-lidding of doves and butterflies and ribbons, I am one of the only people I know who is DOING IT. I am doing it, and by "it" I mean going off into the world on my own- financially independent- and doing what I set out to do. Key words: financially independent. The great revelation came while discussing a friend who is clearly wealthy but refrains from activities for monetary reasons. For some reason it never occurred to me how wealthy she actually is, not only because of her family, but also, she has a great job! I don't fault her for this, or any of the people on the mental list I promptly made, but I do single them out and judge them. In finishing the list it became crystal clear that virtually all of the young ladies and gentlemen I graduated with are financially backed. It's like my eyes went into Twilight Zone spirals and I woke up hours later, feeling reborn. I was also drunk at a street fair in the middle of the day.

Roughly two people I know besides myself would be entirely fucked if the money ran out. Our families wouldn't be able to help us that much, we would never ask, and it's been this way since we left home. Or possibly before. It is these people that are closest to me. It's hard to be fully involved with friends who are experiencing every event in a different way, without the struggle. One my best friends recently said, while discussing the newness of being a real adult, with adult bills and demands, to make money and somehow to feed his soul, "But the struggle is good."

The struggle IS good. I can not imagine life any other way. Maybe I would be happy, in the short run. But in the long run, assuming we all succeed at our individual aims, I will have the satisfaction of knowing the success is mine. All mine. My own. My precious. Read it in my memoirs, bitches.

In the meantime, I will drink two dollar wine with my boyfriend, and be happy.