Today, while sitting across from a financial planner who was trying to sell us some sort of instrument, projecting 18 years into our future, I got this funny feeling that went something like this: “I hate you.”
Something about turning the rest of my life into an action that is going to fill the columns of an excel sheet is not exactly what I had in mind.
Why can’t old people just live in one little room with young people under the same roof? Wouldn’t that be the easiest way to go? Then everyone wouldn’t have to have millions in order to be so independent in the gray years.
If everyone needs fewer millions, we could shrink the efforts of the working years, burn less fuel, and attend fewer wars in order to grab every damn thing we can so that we can each live alone in our own castles as we hurtle toward death.
I do not mind so much the idea of having less money when I am older. I do not like the idea of being alone when I am ancient. So why not marry the two?
My financial plan? Increase income, decrease expenses. Save as much as you can. Eat your vegetables. Good fucking luck.