by Band Back Together | Sep 28, 2010 | Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship |
I’ve been tottering on the edge of the deep abyss for a long time now. Too long… back before I married again and back when I was a complete person. For that millisecond of time before I messed it all up again. Before I lost the best job I ever had. Before my second husband became such a problem for me – such a hurdle that I just couldn’t overcome. Before my daughter had surgery. Before I started relying on my parents to give me money to pay the bills.
But today it’s a little lighter. And it was a lighter day yesterday too. The only thing I can attribute it to is laughter. And finding blogs that make me laugh and make me want to be a part of this online world of people who I might actually be able to relate to and who might actually understand what I’ve been going through.
I’m still struggling with financial stuffs. I’m still taking money from my parents every month. I’m still taking my medications and still underemployed and terrified that the future looks just like today or worse. But because I laughed so hard I cried. And then I laughed with my daughter and we danced together and laughed some more. And because I had a lighter day yesterday and again today, I think I might have found a little bit of hope lurking out there. I think I might have found that iota of strength I needed to find to keep trying tomorrow.
And that feels good enough for today.
by Band Back Together | Sep 21, 2010 | Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship |
We just finished a battle to keep custody of the Duckling. Total cost of the whole court battle and everything associated with it totals about a year of private school tuition. It’s completely drained our savings and there are still bills that we don’t know how we’re going to pay. Duck and I are drowning in thoughts of debt and what that does to our future dreams.
The worst part? This whole damn custody battle was because Duck’s ex-wife wanted to drag him through the mud. She filed for full custody. Custody is still shared. THERE WAS NO POINT TO HOW MUCH MONEY WAS SPENT.
It’s killing me.
by Band Back Together | Sep 12, 2010 | Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship, Romantic Relationships |
I live with my significant other. Not married, but together for almost two years. A Match.com success story, fyi. Last weekend, I decided to go car shopping. If you read my blog, you will see that my hobbies include shopping for cars at CarMax. I went, I saw, I liked, I bought. Sold the old car and came away clean. Bought the new car. Old car was part of the family for oh, about 16 months. Suze Orman would kick my ass.
Anyways, back to the title of my post. Today as my SO and I were driving I asked him, “If we were married, would you have had an issue with me buying that car?” He paused for several minutes and said hmmmm. So I said hmmmm. I think I like the his, mine and ours concept. We have a joint account that we call the “corporate account”. If I want my GD Botox every few months, I will use my money that I make from my job and get some needling. During my marriage to Evil Eye Ex, the Un Super-Hero, money was ALWAYS an issue and that really bothered me.
Marriage? Maybe some day, but I like things just the way they are right now. Mine, his and ours. Honey, put those hanging plants on the “corporate account”.
by Band Back Together | Sep 10, 2010 | Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship |
I’ll start this off with the fact that I hate money.
I know. Everyone says that. Everyone, especially now, is having a fuck of a time. Bills have to be paid. Kids need diapers and food. Cars don’t run without gas. My problems, in no way, take more precedence than any other family trying to keep everything together. We’re all trying not to sink under this never-ending weight of feeling like you’re working your ass off, day after day, never seeing the people you’re doing it for, and for what?
The red envelopes still show up in the mail.
The phone still rings for an answer and your routing number.
The library remains the last outing that’s affordable. Though at this point, it resembles more closely a broken down sales-outlet that barely captures the images of the place I felt was a second home.
I’m not writing this for sympathy or as a plea for help. I’m writing this because more than once, shit, more than i can count, I have felt utterly alone in this flailing to keep everything okay. Keep everything normal. And I know there have to be others out there that feel the same way. Regardless of whether they talk about it or not.
So, I’m throwing this out there. Feel free to comment and commiserate and bitch. Or, just read this and know that you’re not alone. There are others trying, pushing, shoving. And we’re all going to get out of this at some point. There may be some scars, but seriously, wear those motherfuckers with pride. This is warfare and you got out alive.
Besides, everyone knows war wounds are way cooler than tribal tattoos. *They can also get you free beer.
*Free beer not guaranteed.
