I got rid of the critters that were living under and stinking up my house. Don't ask. I just did. They are gone and I am happy. No regrets.
Home ownership is a headache. But renting a place? Oy. You live at the whim of another person or corporation. Don't get comfortable. You never know.
There is only one answer, really. Money. Money seems to be the answer to everything. This is a tough concession for a hippie. The best money, of course, is money you didn't earn. That is the kind I wish I had. I'd be good with it. Not a little but a lot of it. Enough to just call someone to fix it, whatever "it" is. Money enough to decide you want a new car. Not just a "car," but, you know, one of the expensive ones. Enough money to go on vacation and not stay at the Economy Lodge. Enough money to have a second (or third) place at the beach.
I know this is not "real" money. I dated a woman from a wealthy family. Like real wealth, not the kind you work for. Houses around the world money. Great apartments in every major city money. Having multiple servants money. Having real "fuck you" money.
If you can't get your money without working for it, I guess the next best thing would be getting it for some exceptional talent. You know, like Hulk Hogan or Miley Cyrus. Serious talent.
I am reeling from the expense of having my car tuned up. How do people afford things?
Oh, they are more clever than I. I have a request to buy one of my photos that the person saw on the blog. But I can't print it. My big printer is shot. I can't afford to buy another one. I can't justify it. I will never make enough money selling prints to pay for it.
Though once, a thousand years ago, I had an art studio and a big ass printer. How did I do it? I had a fantasy that I would only need to sell one print/month to support the place. Maybe two.
I have practical things to do now. There is much work to be done. As they say, "Road Work Ahead."