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Saturday, August 29, 2009

When I said once that "I could never be rich, because I wouldn't want to do the things required to become rich," this is some of what I meant. (Though Anne means a lot of other things in her post too. I love when she writes about money.) I was told my attitude was difficult. It is.

Anything I have ever done to earn more than "enough" money has twisted me up, at least a bit, because the work I do/did caused someone/s to suffer, or upheld a wrong idea or power, or squandered a thing too beautiful or necessary to be squandered for such a stupid purpose, or caused a person to perceive a new lack. My work is getting people to believe they need and desire things.

I hate thinking about money long enough to save any, or make any plans with it. So it all just sort of comes and goes. I spend it "wastefully," on hopelessly unprofitable or ephemeral things. On getting away from the making of it (vacation) and the feeling of it (foods & drinks & fashions). And so many books.

At the same time, terrified of not having any, a fear--a real red panic--that comes from sometimes having not had any, that achy embarrassment. From the times in the kitchen my mother cried or whispered into the phone or traded her time for our new shoes or married again the wrong man.

S makes money with more determination, but also the same panic and remorse. We plan escape after escape. We pretend someday things will be different. We shyly admit we'd like to have "enough" to be able to not have to do the things required, or that we could (eventually?) make some with our writing somehow.

This is not all about money, but money has become the only recourse to shape, correct, prepare, relax, be otherwise. But to get it, you can't. And so on. When we have everything we need and too much of what we want we start to feel shitty BUT ALSO BETTER.

Poetry (and making books of it) does not twist me in this way. It helps. I confess I like that there's no money in it.

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