Money is to the celebration of life what bilge pumps are to leaky boats. Staying afloat is a calculation made in the abstract, dollars being nothing more than IOUs that get passed around from one climber to another in the strange belief that debts are actually being paid.
I’m working on my 2020 taxes and find a weird sense of satisfaction at having earned little in a year that was the proverbial drawing board where I had to tape down the schematics and rework my life. Circumstance maneuvered me into an early and underfunded retirement, a kind of rug yank that left me and a certain global pandemic both finding our footings at the same time. Now I’m a pensioner with a paltry monthly allowance, like some punk being taught a sense of responsibility by well-meaning parents.
Good luck with that, let’s get some shoes!