postfour

delusions of grandeur.

I highlighted an issue to myself on a Sunday evening. I had no work the next day, a rare moment of lacking the Sunday night feeling. The world was my lobster, I could do anything I wanted to without repercussions of a busy Monday morning. Equipped with this freedom, I ditched a wild night out and replaced it with lying in bed on Right Move.

I have no desire to move house, backed up by the fact I have no financial means of being able to move house. I’ve been in my double garage-sized flat for over six years now, and like it. This does not stop me playing the game I play the most. The lottery game. Sometimes it’s the game where I actually succeed in life and earn enough money to do lovely things with, but it’s best not to be too unrealistic.

It’s a simple game, with simple rules: Set your budget, find your object, shop away. Favourite objects include houses, cars, TVs, even saucepans one on occasion. Last night’s Right Move game involved a £3,000,000 budget in Central London (with parking and private entrance, of course). Now that I type it out, it sounds sad. It is sad, there’s no getting away from that, but this doesn’t stop me playing this dangerous game on a near-daily basis.

I say it’s dangerous, it isn’t. There is as much chance of me being able to blow £3m in London as there is me being able to blow up a balloon without getting out of breath. It’s odd that it’s a game that people can play for real, and do play for real on a daily basis. I’m lucky, I live somewhere really fucking boring and in the middle. It’s cheap in the grand scheme of things. I’m not sure I’ll be able to trade the garage up for anything in Covent Garden for a while yet.

This brings me on to jealousy. I am a very jealous person. A materialistic person. I’m not jealous when it comes to people spending time with people. I’m jealous when people have things that I want, and I don’t have them. Cars, houses, saucepans. This is not to say I’d be happier with these things, I’d be elated. Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly happy with my lot in life, I am a very lucky boy, but I do spend a lot of time thinking about what else it could be like.

I would agree that this could be seen as ungrateful, impatient, unhealthy. Regardless, I’ll still do it. I think everyone does it in one way or another, especially when it comes to finances. I, like others, wish for nothing more than being financially comfortable, but I am aware this isn’t going to happen overnight. Nor is this going to happen whilst I insist on buying nice things on interest free credit and coasting from month to month in a haze of Lidl and Starbucks.

I’ve just read this back (briefly) and realised it’s all sounding a bit serious, that wasn’t the intention. The intention was to illustrate how amazing it is to spend pretend money on shit you’ll never be able to afford. Auto Trader is a fantastic one for going completely arse-over-tit with bundles of cash. In my head I’ve got enough money for the £110,000 Porsche, whereas in reality the £11,000 Skoda on the drive is a bit of a real life extravagance.

I’m content with it all though, the Skoda, the garage flat. There’s an awful lot to be said about working hard (most of the time) to afford some nice things in life. Stick to being a bit poorer in a job that you enjoy, trust me. On the other side of the coin, as much as I would love to be handed an absolute wedge to spunk up the wall, I can’t help feeling it would be slightly hollow, undeserved. Maybe the Porsche and the swimming pool would help me get through it.

I have one nugget of advise for you, don’t chase a job purely for the money. Everyone who works, works because they need to earn a certain amount to keep the cogs moving. People who work for the hell of it and don’t need the money are weird, and I’m jealous of them. I speak from being at two ends of the spectrum; doing a job I ultimately disliked for good money, and earning £10k less doing a job I really enjoy. For the sake of your head, your mind and Lidl’s profits, choose enjoyment.

That ended with me being nice, I don’t like it. Piss off.

I was idiotic enough to forget my earphones. This post was written with the help of absolutely fuck all.

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