So I don’t know about you but there’s this thing I do where I simply have to check my bank balance every time I think about it. I’m not one to misdiagnose myself with OCD because, let’s face it, I’m a slob. Those of you who’ve had the good fortune to see me in my natural habitat no doubt had to climb over mountains of clothes in various states of worn-in-ness, and fight through a sea of coffee mugs to attain some measure of comfort. I’m compulsive about very few things and only my reaction to one wall socket switched on with nothing plugged into it will elicit any reaction that borders on some sort of asperger’s syndrome scale. I’m trying to be zen, remember?
But when I think about my bank balance, I must immediately make use of the marvel that is online banking and have some numbers appear on one of my various screens to tell me how much money I don’t have any more. While most actions of the compulsive nature have a calming effect, mine has more of a belt-tightening effect if I’m honest. Usually I’m a little out, but over the years I’ve become pretty adept at knowing vaguely how many pennies reside in my pot. It’s one of my odd, but comfortingly useful life skills I seem to have picked up as I’ve gone along. Coupled with this are my abilities to: equally pour out wine for two or more people to an acceptable measure of level of accuracy (oddly, I become more accurate the more wine I drink); and the MARVELLOUS skill of, when shopping, being able to bag all my groceries into multiple shopping bags that all weigh the same (or at least balance out over each hand if there’s an odd number of bags). Please don’t burn me at the stake for being a witch.
However there comes a time, once in a blue moon, when my internal bank balance calculator takes a bit of a holiday. This isn’t usually that much of an issue but it’s most fun when my need to check on my monies also decides to go a-wandering. I’ll drift for a week or two without a care in world about finance and then *pop* I remember that such things exist. Yet what somehow happens each and every time these two events converge is that when I can bring myself, snivelling and practically weeping at the thought of how destitute I am soon to be, to call upon the online banking gods to deliver to me my fate is that I am vastly richer than I thought I was.
And what is my reaction to finding out that all is well and that I’m not as shit with money as my subconscious thought I was?
– Why surely, Andy you save it. Or at least you settle comfortably into the knowledge that this month will be under budget and all will be well?
Nah. I see it as a challenge: How fast can I spend my cash surplus? I bet all of it can go in one day! How about some new and obscenely overpriced underwear? And now to stock up your drinks cabinet, yes? And what self-respecting geek doesn’t collect out-of-print graphic novels that sell for dangerous amounts of money? Why not look at how expensive cars are?
It’s at times like these that I realise how financial crashes work on Wall St.