I'm hovering quite comfortably above zero financially, but I can't manage to gain any more altitude than that. Not that it matters at this age - an age at which most are content with a meagre allowance or babysitting cash. I don't have any interest in high-end clothing and I'm not so keen on iPods that I would feel compelled to replace mine for at least a couple more years. There is just something comforting about that money. I could buy a car with it. I could run away with it. I could pay my first semester's tuition at The Collegiate with it.
Silly little pipe dreams.
The money is there so I can inwardly threaten to do things I know I can't actually do. I get to feel as though I'm choosing to stay stranded here out of guilt or loyalty or some other purely conscientious form of reasoning. It's there for comfort.
If I could coax the numbers up just a little more, I could probably follow through with The Collegiate, or pay for insurance and gas on whatever beater car I can find. But I am so brilliantly talented at hovering. CDs and books add up.
I'm thinking of buying my camera, once and for all.
I'm thinking of quitting my job.
No more false hopes and pipe dreams.
Nosedive to Zero.
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