Maybe it’s the fact that I just turned thirty, or became a father. I’m not sure, but something has got me thinking a lot lately about what I’m worth. And I’m not just talking about the life insurance policy that I keep putting off.
Everywhere I look, it seems that I’m quantizing things. Twenty cents for the hummus I just washed down the drain. Two dollars for letting the bananas rot in the fruit bowl. Fifteen dollars, one cubit foot of waste, thirty-two minutes, forty wipes, and 1/8 tube of cream for a box full of diaper changes.
It doesn’t stop there. Units of time, Interactions, relationships, they feel more and more like sortable data.
So I can’t help but wonder, am I a quantity? Is that what my life has been reduced to? Fifity years and their corresponding earning power?
That’s what I wonder when I should be sleeping.