I’m Poor.

I’m very impressed with my rich friends. Unlike me, they’re not poor. I’m impressed even with the nouveau riche bastards who I’d normally be contemptuous of. One of the greatest lessons from my barista job was to never rile up the rich. What you should do instead is to stick with them and mooch. Don’t, under any circumstances, say shit about the rich because they’re powerful and they Google themselves comprehensively. An alternative tack is to maintain anger at the rich, and the world if you feel like it, and make sure to reserve the harshest bromides for the most deserving. For example, you’re a barista and you happen to instantly hate a customer for absolutely no reason. Don’t settle for sink water as Americano espresso diluter. Definitely go with industrial strength sink cleaner. It would murder them twice.

I have nothing of great value aside from maybe my imported and old CDs. The only time I feel rich is when I stare at them because collectively, they’re expensive. I’ve spent maybe about 35% of my mommy’s pension on CDs and this was at a time when I didn’t even have a decent CD player. The remaining 65% of the pension I spent foolishly. I’m the type who discriminates against locally printed CDs because locally printed ‘inlets’ are ugly.

Most of my imported CDs are obtained through dubious means though. I shamelessly asked certain people to send me them with the promise that I’ll love them more than anything I have ever loved. I lived up to this promise and took great care of the CDs and I may have taken better care of these CDs than I did the people who sent them. Actually, I do take care of things better than I do people so you can imagine how well-preserved my copies are of American Doll Posse and A Piano: The Collection by Tori Amos, Joshua Radin, Jack Johnson, Surfacing, Mirrorball and Wintersong all by Sarah McLachlan, Emblems by Matt Pond PA, Smilers by Aimee Mann, Speak for Yourself by Imogen Heap, Grace, Mystery White Boy and Sketches for my Sweetheart the Drunk all by Jeff Buckley and countless others. All that I truly love are contained in a very dusty shelf. All that I should have loved better are in some place else, far, far, far away.

Thank God for Torrent because now I don’t have to spend on CDs. I don’t even have to ask from people abroad because it’s pointless and because I am such an ingrate. I can’t ever show gratitude properly. What I’d do is I’d expand my PC’s RAM and download shitloads of albums. I would have asked stepmom to buy me Abnormally Attracted to Sin but I already have the digital version, along with Regina Spektor’s Begin to Hope and Far, Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ It’s Blitz, Alicia Keys’ discography, Vampire Weekend, Aqualung’s Strange & Beautiful, The Devlins’ Waiting and more. Never again would I ask for CDs. But I would ask for a Neutrogena Anti-Residue Formula pack-of-3 because I need it badly as my hair is falling out and my scalp has gotten extra itchy and extra bleedy. It’s $44.99 in Amazon and I can’t afford it because I’m so poor.