Wanton

Wanton

The magnetism of want, the gravity of desire, the radiance of newness, she freezes. Resistance creates character. Submission lowers tolerance. Fearful, she ruminates through all of the possibilities, all of the probabilities surrounding the weakness of her will, a will that refuses to refuse the will of her will. A droplet forms at the place where her face becomes scalp. Salty, the droplet threatens to make her life miserable, unsustainable, constantly lacking.

The wanton feeling defines a desire for something new rather than something needed to fill a lack. Cool to the touch, her palm gently places itself upon the glass that encases stuff that can be had in exchange for money. Stuff doesn’t equal wealth; everyone knows this. It’s the cash that equates one with riches. Those who confuse the purchasing of stuff with the acquisition of cash are the poorest among us. They’re easy to spot, as well, no doubt. She takes a step closer. But this stuff is shiny. This stuff is new. That hit of dopamine is exactly the thing she wants right now, exactly the stuff she needs right now.

People hand over every last ounce of cash for the opportunity to show other people how much they can spend. They all play the game. We all like the game. But the person with the most cash, in the end, is the person who no longer has to worry about what can be afforded. To spend now means you can’t spend later. To spend it all now means you must constantly work to earn more to, thusly then, immediately spend. It’s just that, though, the immediacy of the acquisition. The immediate hit of the pride and satisfaction for which purchasing a thing allows. But the feeling never lasts. That’s what yearly holidays and celebrations are for, essentially, clocked opportunities to trade that cash for new stuff, more stuff, stuff that inevitably turns into trash. Maybe just flush that cash down the toilet rather than trade it for something that will eventually join the sewage, the landfill, the waste.

Cash, however, remains imbued with possibility, endless possibility. The more you have, the more you can spend. Spend it, however, and it never reaches its full potential. She lifts her wallet from her purse and counts the cash. With enough to buy something but not enough to buy anything, she searches for a nearby ATM. Digitally, she lacks currency as well. A consideration of the long-term future: Of course she’ll get paid again. A consideration of the now: Of course something new will lift her spirits. She walks the block in order to decide where she will indubitably trade the meager cash that burns a hole in her wallet, for something she will, within days, despise. She needs a small hit.

Food perhaps, she wonders, will satisfy. Sustenance is a need, she justifies. Nothing sounds tasty, and food will only last for a moment and isn’t something she can look at and be seen with after the fact. The only thing she’ll take home, if she spends her cash on food, is shit that she can poop out later. Good-ey. To trade her cash for stuff has a longer digestion period before turning into shit. But what? What will she buy? What can she buy? She pushes open the glass door into a shop. The overhead bell dingles and dangles.