expenses

having resolved to quarantine the market and its metaphors
to only those corners of my life in which quantification is appropriate,
having resolved, with the arrogance that only a true post-marxist can unwittingly affect, to avoid the colonization of my inner life by the logic of capital,
I studiously refused to tabulate the cost of this.

but, like the credit card bill I ran up at eighteen and have tried to elide from my thoughts,
like the tens of thousands of dollars in student loans that I've saddled myself with in spite of my lack of a plan for a remunerative future,
these things haunt.
and they don't go away.
if I may speak in the metaphor that I abhor, honey,
you are costly. And now I'm in fucking debt.