Quote:
Originally posted by notcasesensitive
Really? You feel like some sort of failure because you don't have some status symbol car? I'm now readjusting my sebby image.
The only car-related thing Mr Man and I have agreed we would spend money on if we were to win the lottery tomorrow is a Town Car (or similar) and driver. Let someone else deal with LA driving and parking. We do that now on a smaller scale with the cab stand outside the apartment, but when we're living up in the hills (post-lottery win), we're unlikely to have that ammenity anymore.
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No. I just want the cash that car represents so I no longer have to work. The car is like a big fat stack of dough, mocking me, kicking back on the neighbor's lawn and laughing in an English accent, "Yes, Sebby old boy. My owner doesn't have to slug it out in a fucking office all day. He can afford me, which means he's got cash to burn... Its too bad you don't have that kind of cash. You could be in Maui, rubbing suntan lotion on your wife's tits right now."
Its not the car. Its the ambition the car reinforces, and the consequential frustration I feel at having to be bored to make money. But thats the handle in life, no? The more boring the work, the better the pay. Nobody's going to dump a bag of gold in my lap for writing travel articles about taking a weekend of psylocibin and Woodford Reserve in Mantoloking.
I never wanted to work, and I still resent doing it. But I need money. Its a deep seated mental problem I can't get past.
ETA: Which probably explains why my wife and mom call me "brat" as a nickname. I never accepted the work ethic/boredom reality of working life.
