Maybe I've felt dumber, but I don't remember when.
I was in a great mood today. Woke up reasonably happy, went with Nate to JCPenney for him to buy work shirts, went out to lunch with Sara (the woman I take care of), went on a long walk with Sara, worked out on machines while watching tv with Sara, took a hot shower (alone), watched the first half of Project Runway, got off work and came on home.
Home to my mailbox. My mailbox that I love to see mail in. It keeps me connected with the outside world, gives me something to look forward to when I step out of the car. The mailbox is attached to the wall next to the door, and since there are four apartments it is a little too high up and I have to stand on my toes or reach down inside to find whatever piece of mail awaits me. Delightful or mundane, I welcome them all.
Except today, when I saw the bank's symbol in the return address section. I know it's not time for my next statement, and they don't usually send me frivol. So it couldn't be good.
So I took it upstairs and began to open it as a heavy weight began to descend on my head and shoulders. The envelope didn't want to give its bond with the glue holding down the flap, as if the person sealing it had licked it extra in their disgust with my hideousness. And my heavy dread was due. I generally consider myself to be a halfway intellegent person. Capable of adding and subtracting, I harbor no great fears in managing my checkbook and maintaining at least a balance of a few cents between paychecks. This time, however, I managed to use my debit card, not once, alas, but THREE TIMES without writing down. Twice for gas, and once for a bottle of moderately cheap wine I took to girls' night at Lowen's. This alone would be an embarassment and hassle but no great financial disaster, except that I then bounced two, one two, checks at a fee of $25 each. I now have an account balance of $-95. This is ok because I'm getting paid tomorrow and can then cover it, but is not ok when you consider that
a.) I feel like a total fool, and
b.) have been living in a semi-dark house because I can't even afford to replace the lightbulb that burned out in my bedroom. When I go in there at night I now depend on the Christmas lights I left in the window and the light that falls through the doorway from the living room. (Good thing I don't apply makeup anymore.) I've actually been selling my clothes on Ebay. I need to get my wisdom teeth taken out, but instead live on Ibuprofen. A $50 fee actually does come close to ruining the teetering balance that is my life.
Why is she talking about this? You might ask. Well, because no one is here at the moment and I feel the need to get this off my chest, and also because maybe I feel some need to make myself accountable to the public. I will no longer use my debit card for anything except dire emergencies, at which time I will record the amount spent in any way possible short of tattoing. I will remind myself every time I want to use it instead of writing out a check that my laziness will only cost me my personal pride and possibly next month's groceries, and therefore to pay in cash.
Tomorrow's mail better be really great.
Home to my mailbox. My mailbox that I love to see mail in. It keeps me connected with the outside world, gives me something to look forward to when I step out of the car. The mailbox is attached to the wall next to the door, and since there are four apartments it is a little too high up and I have to stand on my toes or reach down inside to find whatever piece of mail awaits me. Delightful or mundane, I welcome them all.
Except today, when I saw the bank's symbol in the return address section. I know it's not time for my next statement, and they don't usually send me frivol. So it couldn't be good.
So I took it upstairs and began to open it as a heavy weight began to descend on my head and shoulders. The envelope didn't want to give its bond with the glue holding down the flap, as if the person sealing it had licked it extra in their disgust with my hideousness. And my heavy dread was due. I generally consider myself to be a halfway intellegent person. Capable of adding and subtracting, I harbor no great fears in managing my checkbook and maintaining at least a balance of a few cents between paychecks. This time, however, I managed to use my debit card, not once, alas, but THREE TIMES without writing down. Twice for gas, and once for a bottle of moderately cheap wine I took to girls' night at Lowen's. This alone would be an embarassment and hassle but no great financial disaster, except that I then bounced two, one two, checks at a fee of $25 each. I now have an account balance of $-95. This is ok because I'm getting paid tomorrow and can then cover it, but is not ok when you consider that
a.) I feel like a total fool, and
b.) have been living in a semi-dark house because I can't even afford to replace the lightbulb that burned out in my bedroom. When I go in there at night I now depend on the Christmas lights I left in the window and the light that falls through the doorway from the living room. (Good thing I don't apply makeup anymore.) I've actually been selling my clothes on Ebay. I need to get my wisdom teeth taken out, but instead live on Ibuprofen. A $50 fee actually does come close to ruining the teetering balance that is my life.
Why is she talking about this? You might ask. Well, because no one is here at the moment and I feel the need to get this off my chest, and also because maybe I feel some need to make myself accountable to the public. I will no longer use my debit card for anything except dire emergencies, at which time I will record the amount spent in any way possible short of tattoing. I will remind myself every time I want to use it instead of writing out a check that my laziness will only cost me my personal pride and possibly next month's groceries, and therefore to pay in cash.
Tomorrow's mail better be really great.
posted by sarah at 6:28 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home