I awoke this morning to find myself desirous of infinite wealth. It has never been a need for money that has prompted me to want it, it was always been the desire to appease those less creative and understanding around me who have fallen in love with it and worship before the tree.
I woke up to an email from my insurance company wanting to know about any changes to my living situation. I have always found myself crawling to them each time I make a change because it has always felt like running in circles. My agent has never changed locations and has always been the same person. I, on the other hand, have maintained enough contact with them regarding which car and which apartment and who with that I’ve come to be on a first-name basis. I feel embarrassed by my inability to sit still only because of my accountability to those who do not move. I am offended by my legal obligation to spend more on what could go wrong than the car itself is worth.
It is this very mentality that leaves me wanting more money. I don’t want to buy a bigger house with it, because a bigger house means more to vacuum, and large houses aren’t particularly suited to hide and seek like they should be. I don’t want to buy a yacht, because a yacht is the least adventurous of all the boats, itself being an oversized mansion devoid of sails and anything that the sea should be. I want nothing less than more than enough, to no longer feel as though each person around me is demanding a pound of flesh. I want only to know that sometime before I die, I will have been able to give more than anyone could have ever tried to take.