Happy Valentine's Day To Me

I slept until almost noon today. I haven't done that in years, but I had a crappy time last night. So did HUBS, and it was his birthday.

He wanted to build a new computer. We'd done our taxes and were getting a pretty good refund; but there were other pressing issues. The plumbing in our kitchen is shot and we need to pay his property tax from last year. I talked to him about it and told him I didn't like the idea of him spending so much, right now, on a computer when his isn't blown out. And I know his parents talked to him about it.

HUBS is angry. He's angry that he's 42 and can't just buy what he wants he wants to. He's angry that I don't have a job. He's angry that he feels like our whole financial life rests on his shoulders. He's angry that he has a job he basically enjoys, but where they've told him outright that he won't be able to move ahead if he stays there. He's angry that every time he comes close to getting a higher paying gig...he doesn't. All of that makes sense to me.

So last night, instead of enjoying his birthday, he told me how angry he was, is and will be about things until I get a job. It took a few hours. And when he took a break to shower I sat watching Access Hollywood, with a growing headache, and considered just walking out the door and getting into my car and not telling him where I was going or when I was coming back because I didn't know.

I stayed. When he came back into the room I apologized for being a depressed, unemployed and ambition-less loser. I apologized for leaving my job at exactly the wrong economic time, letting the process of applying for and not getting jobs demoralize me and giving up over and over again. I apologized for not knowing how to make working for myself work and for hating whatever office or retail job I might get in the future until I can make real money writing. I apologized for not caring about sex enough to do it when I don't want to and not even trying to find a job for the past seven months.

Then, we went to dinner. We drowned our sorrows in food and booze, and I, for one, felt no better.

I realized this morning, laying in bed trying to go back to sleep, that none of the things I want seem even remotely real or possible for me. For other people, sure. But not me. Whenever I try moving toward those things, I feel good only on the surface. Deep inside, there's a tight ball of tense fear that forms and says This will never happen, but you just keep on keeping on.

I don't feel special enough to have what I want. So, I stop trying and the fear of wanting goes away. I think that's why I sabotage myself so much.

The only way to get through the fear is to feel it and do the things I'm scared of, but I haven't mastered that. At all.

Clearly, I have some things to work on.

What's the scariest thing you've ever done? How did you make yourself do it anyway?

Have You Heard The One About The 35-Year-Old Woman And Her 401K?

It goes like this:

So a woman works for the same company for almost 10 years, right? And, she hates it almost the whole time. But then she finally leaves, happy to be free and really happy to have built up a nice little nest egg in her 401k.

The woman has a degree from a good university and a steady work history, she thinks she'll finally have a good job that she enjoys within a few months. But, the woman was wrong. The economy dips to the ninth circle of Hell shortly after she leaves her old, hated job and she can't get hired. Not even Best Buy, Walmart or Target will take her.

So, when almost three years have gone by and all unemployment benefits have run out, the woman and her husband are in deep, deep, shitty credit card debt. They are scared and angry. They know they should have done things differently: lived more frugally and had the woman back-burner the dream job search sooner. But also! They weren't out buying yachts and crap. They mostly used the credit to pay for much needed (sudden) home/car repairs and groceries.

The woman talks to 10 Consumer Credit Counseling agencies. Some won't offer any deals at all because of the negative income the couple has at the end of the month. The others offer deals that they still cannot afford.

The woman gives in and gives it all to God. She's tired of the phone calls, the crying, the constant math-doing and bill shuffling. She's tired of the stress, the sleepless nights, the headaches, body aches and the constant beans and rice eating, the woman is gassy enough without all that.

That woman? She lets go of her fear and obstinacy and sees one way out. She cashes in her 401k.



I freely admit that when HUBS brought up the idea of using my 401k to help us out of this jam it made me incredibly angry. Not because he suggested it. Because it felt like I would then have nothing to show for my unnecessarily long stint at a job I mostly despised.

Then last Saturday, after yet another talk with a creditor, I felt something change. The idea of doing this big, major thing made me feel free. Things will still be tight, but not can't-afford-groceries-must-eat-the-same-things-day-and-night tight.

I can see that I needed this; to have a financial fuck up so big that I had to use my retirement fund to fuel my rescue. And, if we had done this over a year ago, when HUBS first suggested it, there would have been considerably less money to work with.

I can also see what a blessing it is that I had that option in the first place. (Well, last place really. Believe me when I say using your retirement fund to bail yourself out is always an absolute last resort option.) Some people get into this kind of bind and only have bankruptcy to look forward to.

I am committed to not using credit cards until we dig ourselves out of this mess totally, and then only sparingly. I am committed to finding an in-the-meantime job until someone realizes how fabulous I am and pays me lots of moolah to write. I am committed to living within our means and helping HUBS do the same.

Thank God, y'all.

Fit

I wish the title of this post referred to my firm inner thighs and tight abs, but unfortunately I'm talking about the kind of fit you have instead of are.

For a while earlier this year I was having a lot of these, throwing things and yelling and such. I had one again last night. This time, though, I hit HUBS in the stomach and when he said "Hey, what the fuck?" and backed away I threw a bag of crackers at him. Dammit.

Why did I get so upset? He'd just come home, right before 9pm, after saying he'd be home at 5:30 and then saying he'd really be home at 7:30. I had just finished eating without him (I hadn't had anything but toast all day; I tried to eat soup after I found out about the liver thing, but I think I was too worried to eat. So, after getting sick to my stomach I took about a 4 hour nap.).

I was mad that even though I'd called him and told him about the medical stuff, he didn't seem worried, or to care that I was worried. I was really hoping that he'd be home early so I could talk to him and be comforted and such. Plus? My computer keeps crashing and had just done so. So I wasn't able to get started on the story I'd been procrastinating on, like I'd wanted to.

It was one of those feelings like nothing is ever going to be right again. We literally never have any money for anything other than bills anymore, and are dangerously close to having no credit left either. We even had to take a cash advance from one of my cards last week to avoid getting overdraft fees in our checking account and to have some money for something. I really just can't seem to find a job. I put in four applications for retail places on Monday and no one has even called.

Nothing feels right. And, yeah, I was taking some undeservered stuff out on HUBS when I hit him, but I also feel like he hasn't been caring for me like he should. We've talked about this at least 3 times since I've been sick this month. I know he's been working insane hours to make overtime money for us, but when I was sick he still had to be asked and told to do things for me.

I mean, I got dizzy everytime I bent over and I still had to request that he do a little laundry. Do you realize how hard it is to go down a flight of stairs (to the basement) when you're weak and dizzy? He wouldn't so much as load the dishwasher without my prompting. Until I yelled at him. Got angry and told him to "help me dammit!"

Do you know he wouldn't even go get me a hamburger? Just a plain McDonald's hamburger. He didn't come out and say no, it was more like "Well, let's just wait and see after I finish this and we can go together blah blah blah." Fuck, I didn't feel like leaving the house. Basically, after a hard, long week at work he was finally getting to goof off online like he likes to and didn't want to deal with me (which he actually said to me, though not in so many words) when I asked him a whopping 4 hours later why he didn't just go get me a God damn burger already? Oh, and I happened to confront him about this when we were finally on the way to getting my burger, after I'd been hungry for, yes, FOUR HOURS.

I don't think I'm being outrageous here, to expect a little care from my husband when I get ill. Especially since I literally do everything for him when he's sick, and he gets sick A LOT. I even stuck by him when he got some flu-like thing a few months after we got together, when he thought he, wait for it...MIGHT HAVE AIDS. Yeah, and honestly, I think he deserved to get hit a little, though not for everything I hit him for.

This no-job-no-money-no-credit pressure is too much after 22 months of unemployment. I think we need counseling.