MoneyJuly 31, 2009 at 11:36 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
It’s a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.
I was talking to a friend at work today, and he said his wife said she hates money. But you don’t *hate* money, you hate not having it. But that is the typical emotional response, especially for a woman. Kind of like when you break up with someone. And after you break up, you obsess about them even more.
I guess that’s why my stomach has been upset lately, and I’ve had disruptive bowel service. Money and I broke up. I miss Money already.
I knew we were headed for a break up. Money hadn’t been hanging around like she used to, she doesn’t last like she did in the old days, and we don’t share good times anymore. Money just seemed…distant to me. Cold, and unemotional. Like Money doesn’t care about me anymore. Money just wants to go where someone can afford her. Maybe that makes her shallow, and I want to call Money a whore for leaving me, but it’s more complicated than that. I know I share some of the blame, too. I should not treat Money like she doesn’t matter.
I used to take Money for granted. It’s funny how you never appreciate someone until they’re gone, you know? I remember those nights together, the two of us alone–
I remember watching the market report, as Money would go down on me. And back up slowly. Then down quickly again. Money is good at that.
Memories of Money are all I have now. Money won’t answer my calls, she ignores my emails and texts. Money won’t friend me on Facebook. I drunk dialed money once, hoping for a late night booty call and some Steak n Shake. Money answered in a fake accent, telling me I had the wrong number.
I remember the night Money made me move out of our house. Crying like John Cusack in the rain, as the sheriffs came and put my stuff out on the street while she watched from inside. "I got nowhere else to go!" I cried, but she did nothing, no expression on her face. She left me out in the cold, and the dark. Hungry. Without Money, I am nothing.
I never should have told Money that she wasn’t enough for me. She used to be. But I needed more. I wanted to consume Money completely. I wanted her all the time. If I couldn’t have that, I wanted to go out and get more. Find someone just like her. Another Money. More Money. If I could just make another Money, clone her, or print a new one. I fantasized about a threesome, me and Money, and Money’s friend who looked just like her but with a different hair color and hairy armpits. Her exotic European friend. In my fantasy, I just call her Euro.
I hear Money is getting along fine without me. Here I am, back at my parent’s house, living in the basement. But my friends call and tell me that they saw Money out the previous night with some rich guy, dancing the night away. I know she’s doing it to spite me. She’s not really that shallow. He doesn’t care about her and her feelings, just how he can use her, and toss her aside like a debit card receipt.
I get angry, thinking about Money with some other man. Letting herself get used and violated like that. It was supposed to be me! I was supposed to be the one violating Money!
I’ve daydreamed of kidnapping Money, of stealing Money and hiding her away. But she’s too wild for me, too much for me to control. It was obvious from the beginning I couldn’t handle Money.
I guess I obsess about Money. I love the way Money made me feel, as we rolled together naked in bed. Now, every where I look I seem to see Money. There she is, in everyone else’s arms.
I didn’t want to do this, but she’s driven me to it. I think to get back at Money, I’m going to ask out her sister, Bonds. She’s a little young, but she’s hot. I can’t wait till she matures.