BY BROOK WEST
Go fuck yourself. Yeah, and your mother, too.
You follow me everywhere - like bad habits and stray cats.
I see you peeking out of my wallet, ready to chokehold a Grande non-fat with-whip (I’m human) Caramel Macchiato.
I see that my favorite beer, Smithwicks, is on sale. And what do you do, Money? Tap me on the shoulder. Tap tap tap. WHY DO I NEED BEER WHEN I HAVE PERFECTLY GOOD MOUTHWASH AT HOME?
Oh, Girl Scout cookies. Never in my life would I pay $4 for a box of flour and sugar. But put a girl in a brown vest waving Thin Mints and Samoas and silly little things like credit card payments and electricity are left with no regard.
Why is Oil so special, huh? You two are sleeping together, aren’t you? You dirty whore. Does Oil know about your other relations with Interest Rates and Healthcare? You go from hand to mouth, hand to mouth. Do you even care about their feelings? Do you?! You disgust me.
You think you’re so high and mighty, as if the pictures of outstanding Presidents would deter me from your cold, self-righteous ways.
Here’s a thing or three I know about you, Money.
#1 Everybody knows you, but no one wants to talk about you.
You either end up hurting people or look like a complete show-off. Or BOTH. NOT COOL.
#2 You think you are a substitute for feelings.
You do not equal love.
You do not equal happiness.
You do not equal self-worth.
#3 You ruin things.
Whether there’s a lot or a little of you, Money, you are a ruiner! Relationships. Families. Businesses. Countries. Even my abundance of clean clothes fall victim to your quarter starving washer/dryer ways! How DARE you.
I am a freelance writer. There’s a reason why FREE is tacked onto the job title. Oh how you fail me. Art has not died, Money, but being paid for it has, you selfish tool.
Alas, I love to hate you, and hate to love you, Money.
Despite my strong words and my affinity for list making, I remain your #1 fan.
Through the years I vow to remain most faithfully yours,
BY PAULA TIBERIUS
It’s not so easy to define my relationship to you. You are my friend at times, but I feel like you don’t always have my back. I take you for granted, yet I also scramble at your feet, trying to get your attention. I resent the tricky way you have of adding up when I’m not looking. Do you do that on purpose? Just so you know it’s only good when it’s on the plus side.
Your lack accumulates in these massive black boxes in my credit card statements, and the corners of my mind. It’s not healthy. In fact, I think that might be why I’m writing this letter – to ask for your friendship, your help. Let’s stop these petty arguments and admit we’re in love.
Okay, I admit I haven’t always treated you with the utmost respect. In fact, I’ve pretty much bought into the whole “root of all evil” thing for most of my life. But in my defense, you’ve always been a difficult person to pin down. I resent all the time I had to spend as a kid learning how to manage you. I tried to track you down month after month, putting you into categories. Schoolbooks, concert tickets, bus fare – all those things you have a monopoly on. But somehow you won’t be pinned. You come and go as you please with very little regard for your effect on people’s lives. Yet I can’t dismiss you. Annoyingly, I cherish you.
I feel like we have a casual lover’s relationship where you sometimes come over and pay lots of attention to me, but then you drift out of my life and don’t tell me where you’re going. I hate to admit it, but I get scared when you’re not around. You make me feel secure.
What about this for a solution? If I make you feel welcome, will you come and visit me more often? I could build you a guest house where you could stay and be comfortable – with your help we could put in a pool or a hot tub. How does that sound? I think we’re ready to move in together, don’t you? This lifelong fling has made me tired and in need of some serious commitment.
I’m going to toss out my old resentments and negative thoughts about you. When people call you ‘filthy lucre’ I’ll stick up for you! When people say they don’t know where you’ve been, I’ll give you an alibi. I guess what I’ve been meaning to say all this time is that I love you, actually, and I don’t care who knows it!