I’d like to make more money. I’m not sure exactly when it transmutes into need, but that formerly distant country has begun to feel at least near to here. 

To live in a way that feels comfortable and low-stress to me, to support Abby and Roby the way I think they ought to be supported, to do those things I need more money.

All of the ways to do that, that I can see, require sacrifices. Now, on the face of it I don’t mind making sacrifices. The idea of sacrificing things to God, or to my family, or to my land are all actually appealing to me.
Making sacrifices for someone elses profit margin is not. 
Of coure, the obvious way to look at it is that I’m not doing that. The sacrifices I’ll be making, while benefiting someone elses bottom line, are really sacrifices at the feet of Roby and Abby. 

I guess I can live with that. 

All I want to do is read and make art and spend time with Roby and Abby. I don’t want to have to worry about what other people in the market like or want or care about. I care about them. Of course, since I live in the real world, caring about them manifests in terms of doing things I don’t really like to do. I just wish those things didn’t take my attention and spirit away from them. 

Nothing really makes me feel like more of a petulent child than talking about my anti-desire to do profitable work. 

 I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!

Cept they can make me do it, apparently.
But really, really really, I shouldn’t complain. It’s the complaining that makes me a child. 

My work is nice, I get to spend time with my dad and I get to spend time using my brain. 
It could be much worse.
And the thing I keep reminding myself is that if I were a multi-millionaire, and Roby was sick, or Abby was sick, I would trade all of it in an instant for even a moment’s peace for them. 

So I suppose I ought to pretend that I’ve made that deal in some alternate universe. I prayed and was rewarded by being popped into this world where I’m not rich, but I’m doing alright and my Abby and my Roby are healthy.
I mean, if I’m that guy I’m cheering my bank account.
If I’m that guy I’m tearful with my reluctance to buy lunch or pay to have my car repaired. 
I cry tears of joy as I drive my car without air conditioning that’s gone uninspected.  
When you look at it that way it’s not so bad.
Whichever way you look at it, it ain’t so bad.