Jellef

That Girl with the Pen

The search for money is relentless

Snippet from the diary of a Woman who has deliberately set out to marry into wealth…

Both of the men in my life are extremely wealthy. They have acquired more money and more wealth than they will ever use in their entire lifetimes. If one were to discover all the hidden monies, one would be right to conclude that there would still be money leftover for the great grandkids trust funds…

Yet, they go to work daily. Work is an 18 hour a day affair. The search for money is relentless and there’s no time to waste doing what men of lesser means do. No time to sit on the phone texting niceties on whatsapp, no time to take selfies to post on social media… No time to deliver flowers personally on a commercialized sentimental holiday… Have the flower service deliver them… Have the shop attendants write the card in their own handwriting to give it a personal touch… But best of all, know your every move for the next fucking six months… Portia, I shall be in Seattle on 5th, I shall be in Texas on 10th, I shall be in Tennessee on 15th… It’s all a nightmare, he reckons. Forgive me if I do not send you a text as I run around… I hate these airports, one travels with the most horrendous people, germs, germs… Sometimes a woman wants to honestly blurt out, you are such a fucking arsehole… Then quickly such a woman who is clawing her way up the social ladder remembers her manners, and gushes…. Oh darling, I hate it that you are away so much, having to mix with all those ordinary annoying people…
You suck it up, because you don’t ever want to go back to mixing with those ordinary people again. You either sip Bourbon. Or you pop a pill for the headaches that won’t go away because locked up in the castle, you have only seen the Hispanic pool boy who looks at you with adoration, desiring that which is out of bounds…

You want to reach out to the folks who were your friends when you were hungry… But then, what would you discuss? They are not waiting on the dealership to deliver the custom car, which you won’t drive because it is too dangerous out there…so many poor people wanting to take it away from you violently… Why can’t these fucking poor people work hard for their money? You gnash your teeth and remain silent… You bite back a hasty retort… You remembered on time that he is not referring to you when he talks in a derogatory manner about the poor. You are no longer one of those people… The Xanax is running out…. Must remember to refill the prescription…

 

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