Despite every moment of life being indescribably precious and a wondrous mystery, I will spend it caring about dividends and how many rental properties I have.
Rich people are truly dead inside.
I can't imagine caring this much about numbers that absolutely will never impact my life. This person is making more in passive income than I've ever made in my life and he's just like "but but I need more :(".
I mean, fuck that guy, but psychologically it's interesting.
Some desperate remnant of his soul knows what he needs. As soon as his debt is cleared, he goes on to live what many would call an utterly charmed life: working no more than 20 hours a week, travelling and spending time with friends (which he, at $150,000 a year and no mortgage, has ample money to do). He has a loving relationship also.
But his brain is so rotten that he cannot understand happiness anymore. He is incapable of conceptualising it other than in money.
A man who has everything except the ability to feel it.
How poetic.
But fuck that guy.
I want to hit this man.
