Are You Poorer Than Me?

Writing

I’m so sick of being poor. Yes I may have a roof over my head and food in my fridge but when you can’t decorate your rooms or make meals beyond tins of soup and sweetcorn then what’s the point? I might aswell be living in The Amazon, atleast then I’ll avoid the council tax and eyewateringly long queues at the supermarket checkout. 

 

Yes I may be whinging about a first world problem but I believe this is a key reason for my upheaval in the first place. If I did infact live in a tribe in a forest then I wouldn’t know what I’m missing necessarily. How can I miss the sight of some dope dealer sporting the latest balenciaga’s, or the gluttonous geezer buying the ‘extra special’ range in Sainsbury’s when I wouldn’t have the foggiest what either two of these concepts were? You can’t miss what you’ve never witnessed I guess. I would be comfortable and content with my relationships and my tribal lifestyle. 

 

Perhaps that’s just it, in the society I live in, less emphasis is placed on the value of social relationships, instead these are sidelined for the stars of this farcical pantomime I call life – materialism and capitalism. The terrible twins. They are the children you grimace at and purposely attempt to swap at birth, only to find them crawling and clambering their way into your back pocket as you exit the hospital. 

 

My experience living in London has made me reevaluate my perspectives on numerous things, none moreso that the value I myself place on money. Putting it short and sweetly, I now understand why some people may force themselves to do things others may deem shameful. For example, we can all hold our heads high, point our noses in the air, as we scoff at the single mum shaking what God (or her surgeon)  gave her in a strip club. But you put yourself in her 6 inch stilettos for merely a second and maybe then you would begin to empathise and understand that she may have a young mouth to feed on her own. Why? Because the dad walked out as soon as he found out she was pregnant. And let’s face it city ‘living wages’ need to be rephrased as city ‘suffocating wages’. Unless you are in the finance sector or as old as time itself then I’m afraid for the rest of us, youth and inexperience comes as a pretty big financial burden. 

 

I ask myself – why did I move to this city? A question which is becoming worryingly frequent. I’m from a small town in the middle of Northern Ireland, the rent I pay in London could have me living in two places twice the size back in a rural setting, so why am I here? 

 

The old line of ‘there’s loads more opportunities’ is becoming undone, fraying and feeling further from reality. Yes, there may technically be more ‘opportunities’ but let’s face it, no one’s going to throw me a wad of £50’s to take up the opportunity to soak up a West End show, or meetings with top CEOs. Unless ofcourse I turn to sugarbabying, which is a completely different can of worms I wish not open in this moment. 

 

Today, I’m feeling sorry for myself, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who wards away threatening voices in their mind’s eye, tempting them to smash open their piggy bank into a million little pieces, only to find not much more than a hundred little pennies in the remnants of Mr piggy’s once round stomach. Financial hardship makes itself known to all of us at some stage in our lives, I have no doubt, but I say it has outstayed its welcome. So my question now is, how do I kick them out?

Rid them from my minimalist overpriced matchbox flat, where the walls lay bare out of fear that I may maim it’s clinical appearance with so much as a smudge of a marker, or stain from a sticker. Landlords in cities like London make Sherlock Holmes look like a babbling unobservant buffoon when it comes to hunting down the most miniscule of marks on a tenants leaving day, wouldn’t you agree?

 

And with this thought lingering I wonder whether I should indeed make myself scarce of it’s confinements, escaping the financial restrictions once and for all and bid this city goodbye. 

The Best Way To Stick To A Resolution – Don’t Have One

Writing

The best way to stick to a resolution is to not have one, yes you read that right. Take it from me a serial procrastinator and die-hard quitter. If you wanna get something done, don’t bloody do it! Have a look at the ‘reactance theory’ – when we feel pressured to perform action A we will most likely perform the opposite of action A to assert our freedom to ourselves.

If you call it a ‘resolution’ you’ll make it seem like a ‘chore’. Then it becomes something we feel we need to do rather than want to do. We, in a way, remove the freedom of choice by simply labelling it as a ‘New Year’s Resolution. So in that case:

  1. You Don’t Need To Go To The Gym

Gyms are full of sweat stained death traps, one wrong pull on the weight machine and you’re six feet under let’s be honest. Sure, the hot guy in the tight cotton blue t-shirt will be there but so will that pesky personal trainer, what’s his name again Marv the perv? Whatever you do just don’t squat!

  1. You Don’t Need To Give Up Smoking

That one single puff of luxury you get every 25 minutes, a much needed moment of euphoria from the usual turmoil of kids kicking and screaming and cats p*ssing on carpets. Otherwise known as general family life. If God gives you lung cancer it’s a fair trade off for the sweet serene seconds you escape Tommy’s temper tantrums you tell yourself.

  1. You Don’t Need To Save Any Money

Living in squalor really isn’t as bad as it seems, or so you keep telling yourself. Sure, you could start up a bit of a piggy bank, save something for a rainy day, but then how would you be able to afford your cancer sticks?

  1. You Don’t Need To Learn A New Skill – Like How To Crochet Blindfolded

Are you 85 or just senile through choice? Leave crocheting for the deathbed and go smash that piggy bank open instead.

If you really want to stick to your resolutions this year use a bit of voodoo witchcraft, I mean reverse psychology! Happy 2019!

Helpful link; Psychology Today