It is really becoming irritating to see so many people writing about how much they are suffering financially when they have chosen to live outside of society’s typical work/pay scenario.
There are certain choices that you make, and you have to live with those choices. If you choose to be a street mime or operate a Michigan turtle rescue, you shouldn’t complain that you are broke or hungry, that your bank is screwing you with overdraft fees, or your electricity was shut off.
I’m not talking about people who are involuntarily impoverished. I’m talking about White American Males who could get a job and pay the bills, but choose not to go that route. I’m certainly not suggesting that there is anything wrong with trying to live outside of the system, or at least the daily job grind.
In fact I highly recommend it, and have spent many happy years without steady work. The only difference is I never complained about my poverty, and I was living way, way, below the poverty line most of the time during those days.
Why would I complain? I was doing what I wanted to do, and I knew what the cost was. I knew it meant that I wouldn’t have all the things other people had, no guarantee of comfort, security or even food to eat. I went into the situation with my eyes wide open, so I wasn’t surprised when I went through lean periods or a day with no food. That was the price of admission.
But now that the internet has blessed us with 800 million blogs, we get to read about everyone’s misery, and how they scrape and scratch to survive. And maybe 0.001% of them are fucked by circumstances outside of their control. The rest of them are a noisy gaggle of whining bitches, throwing a tantrum because the world hasn’t sufficiently rewarded them for their genius. The man is out to get them! What indignities they are suffering at the hands of Babylon!
Spare me. It’s all very ponderous and leaves you with a sick, ugly aftertaste. Reading these mewking children is not only unpleasant, but they are making a mockery of real, societally-imposed poverty.
So, my new year’s message of encouragement and love to you dudes – you rockers, flower collectors, actors, surfers, starving writers, balloon animal clowns and semi-professional poker players is a simple one; get a job or shut the fuck up.