(c) Breeze Vincinz
I remember an episode of the original “Melrose Place” when Heather Locklear’s character Amanda, a ruthless, cutthroat Donald Trump/Omarosa Bin Laden hybrid whose net worth seemed to be in direct proportion to her immorality explained with all the romanticism in the world that when she was younger her main goal in life was to write poetry and paint in oil and acrylics. When it was asked why she didn’t pursue those dreams, all the romance dropped from her face and she responded very flatly and coldly, “Because poverty sucks.”
I began to think of the tumultuous relationship with Poverty that I have had over the years. Truth be said, he’s been the one asking for a divorce; it’s been me who has wanted to talk things over, see if we can work things out. He’s been so consistent; my childhood friend, my adolescent confidant, my adult lover-rapist-therapist… he’s always been around to kiss and/or kick my ass when appropriate. For the past couple of years I have been talking with other entities: Prosperity, Self-Sufficiency, Affluence, Brand Name Ravioli… it’s been pissing him off. “Haven’t I provided for you? Haven’t I been there! When those financially rich and soul poor people demean you haven’t I masturbated you into a cynical, derisive, generic Ravioli and Ramen Noodle calm! Do you think they care about you? When you had no shoes haven’t I always provided you with Payless Shoe Source shoes! When you needed to travel haven’t you consistently flown coach because of me! You would be barefoot and immobile if it weren’t for me!”
And the truth of the matter is… he’s right. If I would have listened to Opulence I would totally be on Skid Row by now or at least have moved back in with my mom… homeless not being able to afford a condominium mortgage, car note, insurance, credit cards for Macy’s/Bloomingdales and such. It was Poverty who sat me down and said, “Kiddo… don’t save up for a car, just get a bus pass, and why buy when you can rent this ghetto ass cold water flat off of Sunset Blvd. with me and we will be just fine.” And I guess we have been… for awhile at least. But there is something awfully unfulfilling about our dysfunctional little relationship lately, something that I used to think was this manifestation of my growing ego, of me wanting to keep up with the Joneses as I get older. It doesn’t feel like that anymore. In certain ways it feels like I want more just to keep up with me. And it other more prominent ways, I think I have just become exponentially co-dependent on that relationship. I have used it as the punch line of
so many of my jokes, the excuse for so many of my short failings, the hub of so many of my dispositions. And while Opulence has his distracting attributes of wanting you to live beyond your means, Poverty can be just as destructive with never wanting your means to ever grow or flourish
Not too long ago I received a comment about one of my articles in which the author touted that I need to “stop claiming poor” with the inclination that if I claim poor then I will be poor. I was extremely pissed reading that comment and I still am not in a pleasant enough state of mind whereas I can thank the author for the advice but what it did do was open my eyes to the type energy that I am giving out to the world. I don’t think that proclaiming myself to be poor makes me poor but I do think that it gives people who are listening an opportunity to treat me as if I am thusly welcoming them into my already dysfunctional relationship with Poverty… and the last thing any shaky relationship needs is well intended advice from someone who only has half of the story. One part of the story is that I have embraced Poverty, the other half of it is the reason why, and the reason why is that in certain ways….I’ve fallen in love with Poverty. You know, he has always been there for me. If there was ever one thing I could ever count on in life, it’s been my inability to pay shit on time… if I pay it at all as well my ability to be self deprecating in regards to my finances and to usher comical shards about my appearance and/or manner due to my income. And like with any relationship, you go through your changes, you both grow at different rates and hope that at the end of the day you still wind up together. Well, I am realizing, and I am putting this energy into the world, that as bittersweet and comforting as these decades have been for me, yeah… I think it’s time we get a divorce.
And dude… like any divorce, it’s not as easy as it sounds! I have been obsessed with anything that emanates from the mouth Suze Orman lately and last Monday I actually sat down, listed every single one of my creditors and gave each and every one of them a call to work out a repayment plan, which let me tell you… took courage of Herculean proportions to do! That along with trying to get back on schedule with paying my rent is probably going to affect my trip back to Chicago this Christmas and that’s when Poverty keeps creeping back in, “Fuck all those Credit Cards, and your management company doesn’t care if your rent is late! Go to Chicago! Get more credit cards to pay for the trip! You won’t have any money when you get back but you don’t have any money now and if you stick with me, you’ll be eating Ramen Noodle dinners again for the next couple of months to pay for the trip and you’ll be fine… just like you always have been!” It’s a convincing argument. It’s one I listened to and atoned to for a couple of decades now. But I also keep hearing two other voices in my head also that are basically saying the same thing, “You’re in a fucked up situation, but you can get out of it, and never return.” One voice is Suze Orman’s, the other, is my own.
So, I want to say that this is a “trial separation” but I somehow feel like a battered wife with a bloody nose and a blackened eye saying she wants a “trial separation” from her husband. You can just feel swarms of voices screaming, “No girl, he needs to leave!” Yeah, my sweet love Poverty has to go. I don’t forsee myself ever becoming a ruthless, cutthroat Donald Trump/Omarosa Bin Laden hybrid… but I will honestly and loudly proclaim that “Poverty Sucks!” And if I ever eat another Ramen Noodle as long as I live it will be too soon.
I remember an episode of the original “Melrose Place” when Heather Locklear’s character Amanda, a ruthless, cutthroat Donald Trump/Omarosa Bin Laden hybrid whose net worth seemed to be in direct proportion to her immorality explained with all the romanticism in the world that when she was younger her main goal in life was to write poetry and paint in oil and acrylics. When it was asked why she didn’t pursue those dreams, all the romance dropped from her face and she responded very flatly and coldly, “Because poverty sucks.”I began to think of the tumultuous relationship with Poverty that I have had over the years. Truth be said, he’s been the one asking for a divorce; it’s been me who has wanted to talk things over, see if we can work things out. He’s been so consistent; my childhood friend, my adolescent confidant, my adult lover-rapist-therapist… he’s always been around to kiss and/or kick my ass when appropriate. For the past couple of years I have been talking with other entities: Prosperity, Self-Sufficiency, Affluence, Brand Name Ravioli… it’s been pissing him off. “Haven’t I provided for you? Haven’t I been there! When those financially rich and soul poor people demean you haven’t I masturbated you into a cynical, derisive, generic Ravioli and Ramen Noodle calm! Do you think they care about you? When you had no shoes haven’t I always provided you with Payless Shoe Source shoes! When you needed to travel haven’t you consistently flown coach because of me! You would be barefoot and immobile if it weren’t for me!”
And the truth of the matter is… he’s right. If I would have listened to Opulence I would totally be on Skid Row by now or at least have moved back in with my mom… homeless not being able to afford a condominium mortgage, car note, insurance, credit cards for Macy’s/Bloomingdales and such. It was Poverty who sat me down and said, “Kiddo… don’t save up for a car, just get a bus pass, and why buy when you can rent this ghetto ass cold water flat off of Sunset Blvd. with me and we will be just fine.” And I guess we have been… for awhile at least. But there is something awfully unfulfilling about our dysfunctional little relationship lately, something that I used to think was this manifestation of my growing ego, of me wanting to keep up with the Joneses as I get older. It doesn’t feel like that anymore. In certain ways it feels like I want more just to keep up with me. And it other more prominent ways, I think I have just become exponentially co-dependent on that relationship. I have used it as the punch line of
so many of my jokes, the excuse for so many of my short failings, the hub of so many of my dispositions. And while Opulence has his distracting attributes of wanting you to live beyond your means, Poverty can be just as destructive with never wanting your means to ever grow or flourishNot too long ago I received a comment about one of my articles in which the author touted that I need to “stop claiming poor” with the inclination that if I claim poor then I will be poor. I was extremely pissed reading that comment and I still am not in a pleasant enough state of mind whereas I can thank the author for the advice but what it did do was open my eyes to the type energy that I am giving out to the world. I don’t think that proclaiming myself to be poor makes me poor but I do think that it gives people who are listening an opportunity to treat me as if I am thusly welcoming them into my already dysfunctional relationship with Poverty… and the last thing any shaky relationship needs is well intended advice from someone who only has half of the story. One part of the story is that I have embraced Poverty, the other half of it is the reason why, and the reason why is that in certain ways….I’ve fallen in love with Poverty. You know, he has always been there for me. If there was ever one thing I could ever count on in life, it’s been my inability to pay shit on time… if I pay it at all as well my ability to be self deprecating in regards to my finances and to usher comical shards about my appearance and/or manner due to my income. And like with any relationship, you go through your changes, you both grow at different rates and hope that at the end of the day you still wind up together. Well, I am realizing, and I am putting this energy into the world, that as bittersweet and comforting as these decades have been for me, yeah… I think it’s time we get a divorce.
And dude… like any divorce, it’s not as easy as it sounds! I have been obsessed with anything that emanates from the mouth Suze Orman lately and last Monday I actually sat down, listed every single one of my creditors and gave each and every one of them a call to work out a repayment plan, which let me tell you… took courage of Herculean proportions to do! That along with trying to get back on schedule with paying my rent is probably going to affect my trip back to Chicago this Christmas and that’s when Poverty keeps creeping back in, “Fuck all those Credit Cards, and your management company doesn’t care if your rent is late! Go to Chicago! Get more credit cards to pay for the trip! You won’t have any money when you get back but you don’t have any money now and if you stick with me, you’ll be eating Ramen Noodle dinners again for the next couple of months to pay for the trip and you’ll be fine… just like you always have been!” It’s a convincing argument. It’s one I listened to and atoned to for a couple of decades now. But I also keep hearing two other voices in my head also that are basically saying the same thing, “You’re in a fucked up situation, but you can get out of it, and never return.” One voice is Suze Orman’s, the other, is my own.So, I want to say that this is a “trial separation” but I somehow feel like a battered wife with a bloody nose and a blackened eye saying she wants a “trial separation” from her husband. You can just feel swarms of voices screaming, “No girl, he needs to leave!” Yeah, my sweet love Poverty has to go. I don’t forsee myself ever becoming a ruthless, cutthroat Donald Trump/Omarosa Bin Laden hybrid… but I will honestly and loudly proclaim that “Poverty Sucks!” And if I ever eat another Ramen Noodle as long as I live it will be too soon.
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