Someday, I’d like to read an essay by a rich person called “rich person fantasies” because I’d love to know what they fantasize about.
As for me, I’m poor. You might argue with me and point to a starving African orphan, but that’s no fun, is it? I’m poor by my own definition, we’ll leave it at that. For your amusement, these are the things I fantasize about, in no particular order:
A kitchen so large that even if I wanted to put every dish, pot, pan, cake pan, vegetable and spatula on a counter, I’d still have plenty of counter space left over to do gymnastics. A kitchen so large that I could have 25 people in it and none of them would have to touch to get by each other.
I’d have a washer and dryer inside my own house. The kind that dumps the washed clothes straight into the dryer and dries them.
Everything I own would work. The refrigerator roof wouldn’t be dripping water, the hall lights wouldn’t only turn on if the switches at both ends of the hall are in a particular configuration. The car wouldn’t make noises or smoke. My internet would be fast enough that videos don’t pause themselves and require a refresh to play again. I could stream NPR and not have to constantly press play twice to get the stream to restart.
I wouldn’t hear anything I don’t want to hear. No one’s leaf blowers, no arguments with gay lovers, no babies, no loud Indian phone conversations. Certainly not vacuuming from another house.
I would never smell anything I don’t want to smell. No one around me would sleep in their own urine. No one would ever smoke.
When I buy food, I won’t look at the prices. It won’t matter.
These are my fantasies. These things are what keep me feeling poor.
You are welcome to choose to feel poor. But does that improve your quality of life?
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Is it a choice? I’m not sure it is. Either way, it could improve my quality of life by motivating me to do something to achieve my fantasy.
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