I sit on my Costco couch in California, staring at my altar made out of boxes that have been covered with a sarong and I can’t help thinking that I am the richest I have ever been. Having exhausted all of my financial avenues (minus that whole “finding a job” thing- because who does that?) I now stare at a dismal balance in my bank account.
I am going to be listing my expensive accessories and fancy dresses that are relics of a past life.
I don’t need any of it.
All those handbags on a shelf collecting dust…
That version of me that requires this to feel special/feel anything no longer exists.