MY BAG LADY SYNDROME AND DINERO

 

I have just discovered I suffer from Bag Lady Syndrome, and—upon reflection—that I have been suffering from it since childhood. It is a deep-seated anxiety, not a clinical diagnosis but a recognized psychological fear of running out of money.

I am not an impulse buyer; on the contrary, I feel guilty after every purchase, including the necessary ones. I have never actually been short of money, yet I have spent a lifetime bracing myself for the possibility of becoming down-and-out—or worse, a penniless derelict, a panhandler with excellent grammar.

I am not a miser. I simply suffer.

And so I think a great deal about money. Unsurprisingly, I also collect the words for it.

In Spanish, my collection so far includes:
ahorrillos, alpiste, astillar, en B, banca, billetaje, billete, blanquear, blanqueo, caja B, candongas, cartón, pasar el cazo, céntimo, chavo, clavo, de clavo, colorado, crudo, cuartos, dineral, dinero extra, dinero negro, dos duros, extra, fajo, gañota, gastar un congo, guil, guinda, guita, jando, jurdel, jurdó, lana, manteca, mariposas, mazo, monis, monises, mosca, panocha, panoja, parné, pasta, pasta gansa, pasta larga, pastizara, pastón, pastorra, pastuzo, pela, pela larga, pellizco, percal, perra, cuatro perras, perra gorda, perras, tres perras gordas, un pico, plata, dos reales, estar seco, tela, viruta.

I take this not as a cure, but as a coping mechanism.