Disturbingly High Forehead Here

I just worked through $12 Japanese food with Che Che. It was magical. I don’t know why cheap food makes me feel so elated. Cheap everything makes me feel elated. Is that okay? I mean, I’ll spend on things when it comes down to the real nitty gritty. I’ll spend if my life is in danger. I’ll spend to keep the necessities is in order. I’ll even spend when I really want some things. But the thought of saving money has always been a big thrill.

I save like an old hermit hiding in the mountains. I keep shoving change in an old pickle jar that I’ve converted into a piggy bank and all of these one-dollar bills and five-dollar bills in envelopes. It’s a little bit of a bail-out fund I keep for Che Che and I. But really it just gives me a thrill to keep socking stuff away day after day. I’ve done this since I was a kid. And it’s probably not that healthy. I know the positive reasons already. But I’m thinking that deep inside, I’m putting my hope and thoughts into money instead of God for really coming through for me when I need it most.

My stomach is seriously starting to alarm me. It’s not a full-fledged beer belly but it’s at least more prominent than it was. I’m pressing the edge of my limits with the pants I was wearing. Like Santa Claus in his teenage years. I shouldn’t be worrying about this. There are so many other things to be stressing about. In fact, I stress about those things too but more in a general sense. Like stressing about the fact that I should be stressing about more things.

I’m still sore from the rock climbing wall.