Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
Last night I found myself with my two wallets out, the one where I keep $100s and $50s, counting them carefully, and the one where I keep $20s, $10s, $5s and $1s, adding them all up. [I keep them in two different wallets so’s I can’t accidentally hand a store clerk a large bill thinking it’s a small one, can’t lose the big bill wallet and hit rock bottom between two breaths].
After carefully counting it all out, got the map, the calculator, re-figured the gas mileage averages per gallon I’ve been getting on the RV, the distances between places I might drive to, and the cost in fuel if nothing else goes wrong.
After I’d figured and re-figured all that a few times I went in to the cabin and began unloading boxes of books I’d packed to carry into town to donate to thrift stores, opening each one and fanning the pages. Just to make sure. [A few weeks ago I’d found a $100 in one I must have stashed in there sometime when I had an extra and wanted to put it aside for a rainy day.]
Found a couple of books I want to read again before disposing of them, but not one $100 bill. So I went around looking at things and other hidey holes where I might have stashed bills so’s I wouldn’t spend them, then forgot. Checking the pockets of blue jeans, coats and jackets, taking the lids off button jars and pill bottles looking inside, moving the buttons pills etc, in case I’d shoved a bill down inside out of sight.
Got me thinking how damned sick this whole money thing is. I remembered for the first time in 40-50 years a book, My Brother’s Keeper, I read as a youngster and was impressed enough to have it stamped on my memory. About some old guy must have been a lot like me. And remembering all the fictional misers stereotyped in books I’ve read over the decades.
Guys who died and people disposing of their belongings coming across pillows, mattresses, loose floor boards, with gobs of money. While the guy half-starved. Hell, maybe they forgot they had it.
Got me wondering if maybe I’ve got a stash around here full of $100s and ain’t remembering I’ve got it.
Maybe it’s time I went out into the meadow and dug some holes, crawled down underneath the cabin to check out the floor joists, the piers and beams for money I hid. I doubt I’d have done that, though. After the packrats shredded all my retirement money I had hidden under a floor joist in the Y2K cabin, I like to think I learned a lesson.
So where the hell DID I put all the money I must have stashed around here over the past few years and forgot?
Afterthought: It’s no damned wonder so many people who are actually rich are so preoccupied with getting richer. They’re probably forgotting they’re already rich. Or can’t remember where their money is.