There comes a time in every adults life where making a sound plan for the future becomes a priority. But it occurred to me the other day that the only sound plan I have for the future is one that involves a zombie apocalypse style-scenario. And while no one will dispute a zombie apocalypse plan is important, nay essential, I can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, I should have invested an equal amount of time into devising some way to pay off my ever-inflating student loan debt.
So far my financial plans for the future including: hoping my bank balance just magically improves by its own accord, becoming a famous author and earning a bajillion dollars, discovering I have a long-lost rich relative in the Scottish highlands who leaves me their fortune or accidentally digging up a treasure chest (most likely stolen booty from a sunken pirate ship) on the beach somewhere. Failing this, I guess the most responsible adult-esk thing for me to do would be to invest in property.
Based on my current salary trajections, house price inflation and the ever-increasing number of annual redundancies in my industry, I’ve calculated it would take me approximately 17,580 galactic years, or 32.7 light years, to purchase a property of my own. And that’s assuming I would be happy to settle for dilapidated property in a rundown neighbourhood where the previous owners were a family of disease-ridden racoons.
And while I have considered just storming into an occupied house I like, planting a flag, and declaring it my own, I’m sure there’s some complicated legal ramifications I’m overlooking. “Look, I didn’t invade your house, I just settled it. It’s mine now. I don’t know what you’re so hysterical about.”
And it’s not only the big financial hurdles I seem to struggle with. Sometimes, when I know I’ve spent more than I’ve earned in a week, I’ll avoid looking at my bank account in the hopes that if I don’t see it, it’s not in arrears.
All that being said, I did manage to save up enough money to purchase a home once. It was a lovely two-story colonial house in a good neighbourhood with six bedrooms, a big swimming pool and white picket fence. Then one day, a terrible fire broke out and burnt the entire house to the ground, killing everyone inside. After that I stopped playing Sims.
Meanwhile, the majority of my friends are buying actual homes and investment properties and not burning them to the ground. I just hope they’ve spent as much time devising a sound zombie-apocalypse plan as they have calculating their mortgage repayments.