Money

I have complicated feelings about money. My dad makes a lot of money, and by most peoples’ standards, my family is wealthy. My parents paid cash for me to go to college. That’s pretty crazy. I personally am broke. I’m on social security disability because I can’t just go out and get any job. I’m pretty stingy, and I’m good at saving what money I have. Still, my parents spoil me and help me pay for a lot of things. You have no idea how much I hate that. I want to contribute to our family’s income, and my mom keeps telling me that I am because of social security, but that’s not really my money. I didn’t earn it. I feel like I’m leaching.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want money. If I had a crap ton of money, I would give a crap ton of money away. At the same time, I want money so that I can independently contribute to my family’s income. I almost sold out. I stopped writing for a while because I just wanted a job so badly. I want to be able to occasionally splurge or donate to causes that I care about without having to feel guilty. I’m not good at accepting help. I get that from my dad. His side of the family is very proud about that kind of thing, and I inherited it.

I guess I don’t hate money. Some people say they hate money, especially when they don’t have it. I get the reasoning, but I don’t hate it. I just don’t have it, and that annoys me. My mom doesn’t work, so we’ve always treated our money like it’s all in one pot that belongs to all of us, and if I had my own money, I guess we would still treat it like that, but I would just feel a lot better about using money if I was contributing to the pot. You get the point. I should probably just stop worrying about it and be patient. Right now my parents don’t care if I contribute to the pot. They want me to finish my book and do stuff that I care about. I guess that’s really more important, anyway. In other words, this is just another whiney tangent about nothing. I do that sometimes.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

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