This cash in pocket, and the durability of your good job, is this going to seriously make you happy so that you'll forget your earlier thoughts of despair and cynicism and be altogether contented and satisfied? If only it were so.
You may get a rosy glow in your happy cheeks momentarilly, you might feel some sort of lonely contentment at the top of the pile as you fondle your monies and goods and give pretty gifts to the lovely wife, but maybe now and then in stark nights when you're bored with all your toys you'll turn around and look inside yourself and see a bitterly empty core, and then you'll submerge it and wake up again to the hopeful realisation that soon it'll be Christmas time again and you can have a cheery dinner by the rosy TV and kiss the cheeks of your joyful family with a tight and genuine feeling of comfort at your heart. Then again, once more, you look at the heart of all you have worked for and see that it is empty, that it was never built to last, and that in the final analysis you're still all alone and all your moneymaking and empire-building was built on nothing but the flimsiest and most pisspoor and wretched of foundations. Then you'd be bitter and dissapointed, then where would you go?