Have you ever heard the saying, “You can’t buy happiness”, or “money can’t buy happiness”, or words to that effect?
Well it’s bullshit.
The lack of money can lead to a significant happiness deficit. And if your happiness level is in arrears because you’re stressed-out about being broke, or unable to pay the bills or the mortgage… and if having a [better] job and more money would allieviate that stress and therefore allow you to get out of a negative-happiness balance, then that just mathematically proves that yes you can in fact buy happiness.
I’m not saying that money and happiness are equivalent. There’s probably an exchange rate, and it probably varies from day to day and person to person. Maybe there’s limits too. Like if you’re already pretty happy, then money won’t buy you any more of it?
But damnit, I’m stressed about work, money, bills, work bills, work money, mortgages, and money, and it’s making me really fucking unhappy. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been in a particularily good place to begin with.
Today has been particularily bad – I have a supplier trying to break a 10+ year old agreement and raise a price retroactively by 400%, a customer who rightly-so refuses to accept a retro-active increase, and meanwhile I’m stuck in the middle wondering how I’m going to pay my mortgage on Monday.
Sure I can simply refuse to pay the supplier the increased rate but that’s not a solution; meanwhile we have other business with them, and other customers, that become jeapordized if the whole relationship goes bad.
These are the days that make me wonder about a dead-end job slinging coffee or cleaning dishes. Might not pay well and the hours probably suck, but at least you don’t have to deal with this sort of thing. And I wouldn’t mind dealing with this sort of thing if there was actually any money in it but the margins are so damn skinny I’ve already lost money by spending 4 hours on it trying to negotiate and communicate with either side.
These are the days that make me think about finding salvation in a bottle, or at the end of a barrel.
No, I don’t handle stress very well.
Which is wierd, because you’d think I would be used to it by now.
But it Never. Fucking. Ends.
You think maybe it’s going to stop, maybe things are starting to look up, it’s turning around and you can relax and take a breath. But it’s all just a ruse. The universe just letting the chain slacken a bit before it yanks you back down.
The heck with it.
With any luck I’m going to get some wine, go home, and get drunk before anything else goes wrong.