Lonely Financial Zone
Whether one has money
or not,
it is common for one to claim that "Money Isn't Everything"
and damn right: it isn't.
I'm in debt. Student loans, overdraft,
loans from my family and friends. On
Wednesday, my father (not a man of patience or level-headedness) found out
about the extent of my debt - something that
I had not been hiding from him, no -
more that I had tried to shelter him
from.
We spoke on the telephone. I cried.
He sighed and sounded
as if his heart was sinking and seeping
out through his shoes. We
have no money as a family, and there are
threats of redundancy against my mother.
I live in a very expensive city
away from home, in an expensive flat, and although
Mademoiselle Roth is not extravagant, I do indeed
have a lifestyle. A lifestyle.
One which costs money. So even though I am
one who believes in values, not prices
how can I
feasibly say that
Money Isn't Everything? Because it isn't. Worse,
Money Doesn't Matter. It blatently
does.
Unfortunately, money is important. With
my debts and my overdraft
and my lack of a job (although not lack of trying)
staying in my beautiful city looks impossible, financially.
I told my father that my overdraft was
around 600. It's 700, but I wanted to
lessen
the shock to him.
Yesterday, upon my inglorious return to the family home
my father;
impatient, angry, poor, violent, terrifying, passionate;
my father presented me
with a cheque for £600.
I ran to my boudoir and
I cried, overwhelmed.
Money, it would
seem, is important to everyone. Why
couldn't I accept this gesture from my father? It was
very much needed, very
much appreciated, so why
did it make me want to stick my bony fingers down my gullet?
or not,
it is common for one to claim that "Money Isn't Everything"
and damn right: it isn't.
I'm in debt. Student loans, overdraft,
loans from my family and friends. On
Wednesday, my father (not a man of patience or level-headedness) found out
about the extent of my debt - something that
I had not been hiding from him, no -
more that I had tried to shelter him
from.
We spoke on the telephone. I cried.
He sighed and sounded
as if his heart was sinking and seeping
out through his shoes. We
have no money as a family, and there are
threats of redundancy against my mother.
I live in a very expensive city
away from home, in an expensive flat, and although
Mademoiselle Roth is not extravagant, I do indeed
have a lifestyle. A lifestyle.
One which costs money. So even though I am
one who believes in values, not prices
how can I
feasibly say that
Money Isn't Everything? Because it isn't. Worse,
Money Doesn't Matter. It blatently
does.
Unfortunately, money is important. With
my debts and my overdraft
and my lack of a job (although not lack of trying)
staying in my beautiful city looks impossible, financially.
I told my father that my overdraft was
around 600. It's 700, but I wanted to
lessen
the shock to him.
Yesterday, upon my inglorious return to the family home
my father;
impatient, angry, poor, violent, terrifying, passionate;
my father presented me
with a cheque for £600.
I ran to my boudoir and
I cried, overwhelmed.
Money, it would
seem, is important to everyone. Why
couldn't I accept this gesture from my father? It was
very much needed, very
much appreciated, so why
did it make me want to stick my bony fingers down my gullet?