The recession has magically turned me into a financial guru.
Meanwhile, if my boiler broke, I called my landlady and she fixed it. And I jauntily arrived at work, my money in the bank, well-slept and unworried.
The same pattern held for the stock market. Friends with investments had to pay attention to squiggly lines I could ignore. They got upset about them. They got elated. I could relate to their lability, but I take meds for that. I don't need to cultivate mood changes.
When this recession hit, I was devastated. But it slowly became clear that people were actually envious of me. By not owning anything and not having any investments, I had nothing to lose. Soon I was being congratulated on my foresight and life choices. No more pity. No more terror. I am now a model citizen whose only fault is owning part of a car.
And then there's the Gap card. Obviously, I must divest myself of that credit card and all others if I'm to live a truly paranoid, paralyzed, illness-inflected financial life. The life of a recession-proof genius, in other words.
So let the Gap break up with me. The last thing I need is another man sweater or garden gnome hat. I have new financial respectability to dress for.