a ball of yarn

I don't want money so that I can buy things, or so that I travel, or eat at nice restaurants, or get drinks, or do any of those other things that come with wealth. The only reason I would want money is if I have kids. I don't want them to feel like they're worse than anyone else. I don't want them to feel poor.

Our parents were too busy working. They were the fuel of our nation's prosperity, and in their rush, they lost sight of themselves. They forgot their parents' lessons and they ruined their lives. And this is what their children learned from. We learned from people who were masters of their profession but fools in life, and now we are all messed up. Look at us. We move from city to city, never feeling at home. We break eachother's hearts, searching for a celluloid love. We quit job after job, despairing and decrying: we deserve better than this.

Everything inside of me is tangled up. It's what my parents handed me. It tangled over the course of their lives, and I've added quiet a few knots of my own. The life I lead is worse than their life. It's not hopeless, though. I've turned to picking at the knots. Slowly, I'm unraveling the mess that was given to me. The same is true for some of my peers. We turn inwards. We see what we are and we try to make it better. Perhaps one day we will be wiser than our parents, even if that is our only accomplishment. At least if we have children, we'll be able to hand them fewer knots, fewer kinks, fewer tangles. Perhaps they will be able to do what we could not. Perhaps they will be able to work. They will make the gears of America resume their grinding.

They will work so hard that they let their lives become a tangled mess.

And the cycle will continue.