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June 15, 2020 / Congau

A Pittance

Money is money, they say, and we know what they mean by that. A horse is a horse, and a man is a man just as any other object is identical to itself. There usually isn’t much information to be gained from such a phrase, but in the case of money the item in question is so dear that even the dullest mind can understand its meaning. Every penny counts.

Money has a measurable value and unlike anything else in our non-sensical world it offers a fixed point of reference. How great is your love for people and places? How much do you appreciate a day in the sun or a good book? This much? That much? Joy is a slippery subject and claiming that fun is just fun is utterly without substance. Weigh it and count it and you get an idea; feel it and it slips away.

No wonder you go to such lengths to secure those petty pennies. Better to have what you know than to be rich in illusions, you might think. Some people build castles in the air, but realists like you and I remain in our humble dwellings counting stacks of coins and dreaming of nothing we can’t see.

Don’t think big. Think small. Life is too big to be measured; it’s bigger than us. We need what can be put on a scale, given a number and added up. Nothing is too small when man is the measure.

I’m a little man and don’t need much. Just give me what I need. Stop talking about those grand perspectives. Don’t think you can fly, be down to earth, be a realist. Care about yourself only, but if you want to care about something else, choose what is real: Care about me.

Have pity on me. Give me a pittance.

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