Not a Wasted Word

This month has been expensive for us. I have that familiar feeling of dread about the coming VISA bill. I don’t even want to go look at how much it is. If I didn’t have $5K coming from my 125 FLEX spending account I’d be in a total panic right now.

I haven’t had this feeling for a long time. I forgot how much I hate it. How small it makes me feel. How it dredges up feelings of hopelessness and failure.

I don’t understand why I can’t just figure out this spending shit. My habits are so deeply engrained, I don’t even stop to consider a possible alternative until it’s too late. After I bought the bunk bed I mentioned it to my mother and she lamented the fact that I hadn’t called her first because a couple of families on her school’s listserv were trying to get rid of beds, and one was even a bunk bed. I hadn’t even considered asking her to put it on the listserv. Heck I didn’t even consider checking craigslist first (I did think about looking for a second mattress used but ultimately decided against it–used mattress (from people I don’t know) weird me out).

I spent a lot of money at IKEA. A lot. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that much, not for how much furniture I got. And my daughter really did need a new chest of drawers. {Hers was from my childhood (an IKEA purchase by my parents when we lived in Hong Kong!) and the aquarium filter had malfunctioned a few times and soaked the whole backside with gross fish water. The drawers barely opened or closed and it was a source of grief for everybody. Getting her a new chest of drawers was not an impulse purchase, by any means, but still, I could have been looking for something used.} So yes, it was a reasonable amount for what we got, but it is still A LOT. More than we can cover without using some of that FLEX spending money, at least when you take into consideration all the spending we did for Christmas.

The thing is, I never even thought to see if I could get a bed, or chest of drawers, used. I do look for things used, quite frequently actually, but I don’t have a lot of luck finding what I need so I guess it’s not my go-to plan of action. But it should be.

2017 is looming. I was excited for it–I believe I mentioned my birthday being on 7-17-17 and turning 37 and how 7 is my lucky number–but now with Trump coming into office it has definitely lost its luster. Part of me wants to make 2017 a financial success for me, for us, to counter the bleakness all around us. Part of me wants to commit to doing it this time, really doing it, so that I can look back at this point of next year and feel proud, and thankful. But I don’t think I will, because if I do I will most likely fail, and then 2017 will be even worse than I already imagine it will be. I’m so sick of failing. I’m so sick of letting myself down.

And then I try to talk myself up, to tell myself that I can do it. That I will do it. This time, it will be different. But why should I believe that? I’ve attempted this so many times before. If something isn’t radically different–a new salary forcing us to spend less, talking about it in therapy every week–why do I think I succeed now?

I am putting considerably more in my retirement fund, starting this month actually. So I guess there is that. And I do have some long term goals I’m working towards–the trips to Spanish speaking countries I want to start taking, for one. And I would love to not feel handcuffed to my job’s salary, especially if I found something I was really excited about that paid a lot less. So I do have real reasons to spend less, and yet I don’t think it will matter. Besides the upped retirement contribution those are all abstract, distant goals. I don’t seem to know how to use them to sway my in-the-moment thinking.

I’m just so tired of feeling like a failure. And the only way to avoid feeling like a failure seems to be giving up. Maybe that is what I should do. Just give up and accept that I will never have control over my spending, at least not in the ways I want to, and hope that we still end up relatively okay. I haven’t bankrupted us yet. Maybe whatever middle ground I’ve found is enough. It won’t get me where I ultimately want to go, but we probably won’t end up bankrupted either. Maybe I should see that as success, or at least not consider it failure. 

A few silver linings to some stressful situations at home:

Now that my daughter comes into our room to sleep on the floor every night, I can write and/or meditate in her room on the rare occasions when my son doesn’t interrupt me with an early wake up. I’m especially appreciative of that right now, because the “sun room,” where I would normally spend the early mornings, doesn’t have insulation or access to the central heating and is so cold in the mornings you can see your breath. My daughter’s room is warmer and has a lot more space. I like having somewhere pleasant to go in the mornings.

When my husband and I fought about me being miserable at my job, one of the points I kept coming back to was that I didn’t know if we could even afford for me to take a salary cut. While it’s true that we no longer worry much about money, and always seem to be able to pay our bills (even the big ones that come up annually or bi-annually), we don’t have any idea how much we’re spending every month and on what. We still don’t track our expenditures, nor do we have a budget we even aspire to. So I used his own insistence that I shit or get off the pot when it comes to a finding a new job to request that we track our spending for 3-4 months, to see what our finances look like and if there is any room in the budget to shave off discretionary income. The last thing I want to do is take a job with a massive pay cut and find we’re both so miserable living on less that neither of us is happy. 

Mostly I’m excited to see how much he spends on lunch every week (yes, he eats out for lunch EVERY DAY), or better said, I’m excited for him to see what he actually spends on lunch every week, in the hopes that it will inspire him to bring lunch at least a few times. I know I need a similar motivation to stop spending in some categories. I hope the exercise is a positive one for us, and I’m grateful that I have the “we need this information so I can shit or get off the pot about a new job” line to get him to participate (so far he has not added anything to the goo.gle sheet I shared).

I’ve been waking my son up before I go to bed to have him pee, a strategy I balked at when we first started potty training. I hate doing it (even though so far it’s been a relatively painless process), but I hate having to change his pajamas, sheets and mattress protector at 3am even more, so I keep doing it. The good news is that now he wakes up dry. The bad news is he’s still up at least once a night between 1-3am. Some day I’ll get an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Some day.

I really am shocked, though, that waking up to pee is not a shit show every night. He barely wakes up and goes right back to sleep when it’s done. I’m so thrilled that it’s not a shit show, and we’re done waking up soaked through to the sheets in pee. 

So those are some silver linings lately. Thought it was worth putting them out there. 

I’m feeling really down lately. I’m just getting so tired of the self-talk required to keep myself out of the downward spiral–it requires so much energy. Sometimes it feels like it requires blantantly lying to myself.

My husband and I are hardly talking. We’re not mad at each other really, we just don’t have the energy to interact. I know I need to get out of the house and engage another adult in meaningful conversation, but it’s December and everyone is too busy with holiday festivities to just grab a dinner or a drink. 

I feel bad for the stuff I bought after my shopping ban was over. I recognize that I was just trying to distract myself from how bad everything is with some shiny new things. That is definitely my M.O. And I understand that it is going to take a LONG time to reprogram those habits, but damn I still feel shitty for it when I fall back into those destructive patterns. 

I know I have so much to be thankful for, and that my life is so wonderful. I know that I will have it better than most during the Trump-era, especially living in San Francisco. Whenever I use that as my self-talk to keep the demons at bay, I wind up feeling guilty. Guilty for being who I am and having what I have. Guilty for being able to put it out of my mind for a while because my immediate safety, and civil liberties, aren’t at risk (I say this as a woman whose job is (currently–who knows for how long) protected by union agreements and who can’t get pregnant with her husband because he’s had a vasectomy).

I know I can’t bury my head in the sand. I know I need to stay active and engaged. I know I need to stay informed. I can’t hide behind my considerable privilege just to make myself feel better. It’s not fair, and it’s not right.

I think part of the problem is that things are finally slowing down at work. The rush of one trimester’s end and another’s beginning is past us. Final grades have been uploaded, new seating charts have been made (this takes me HOURS with all full the classes I have), curriculum has been chosen and outlined. I have a relatively easy three weeks ahead of me before the break, which I desperately need. And yet, I think having that time to stop and think is actually making me feel worse. There are only so many games of solitaire I can play before bedtime without getting seriously depressed.

I’m trying to stay busy around the house, which desperately needs the attention. Yesterday I picked up everywhere and gave all the floors a thorough sweeping–my goodness did they need it. I’ve let the whole house go to shit in the past few months, and it does help to have picking and cleaning up as a general project. 

I find myself counting the days until I can have a drink on Friday night (I don’t let myself drink on the weeknights because I don’t trust myself to keep my overall weekly intake reasonable), but then I’m always disappointed with the actual experience of having the drink. That’s probably because my husband and I have been so distant, and we generally end up sipping our drinks in silence, each on our own devices, until one of us gets too tired and heads to bed. (Usually it’s him that goes to bed, while I stubbornly stay up too late because it’s the weekend goddamn it and I’m going to enjoy it, even if it kills me, and then I feel horrible and tired the next morning.)

I feel like my only lifeline right now are my children. They so enjoy this time of year, and thankfully their enthusiasm can still put a genuine smile on my face. If it weren’t for them, I know I’d be a lot worse off right now.

I wish I could afford therapy, but with my increased retirement contribution there is just no way. Instead I find myself daydreaming about the future, promising myself that the kids and I will spend a month in a Spanish speaking country during the summer of 2018. That we’ll continue doing that in the summers until we find the perfect place to live for a year or two. I imagine how my husband will stay at his parents’ house with our cat so we can rent out home to pay for the trip (there is almost no way this could actually happen) and that he could take a week or two off work and visit. I imagine our years abroad, where I will magically have the time to unschooled my kids and still make enough to pay for our living arrangements (again I’m assuming a family renting our house will pay the mortgage while we’re away) and that my husband can somehow join us despite not having a job that can be done abroad and not speaking any Spanish and probably not wanting to be there in the first place. 

This is where I’m living these days, in fantasies that will never take place. Just trying to make it through… the next four years I guess? The rest of my life? I know it’s no way to live, but I haven’t figured out an alternative.

It’s getting late pretty early now; we’re less than three weeks away from the shortest day. You might think this would be a good time to limit bike use to the daylight hours, but my son’s daycare just moved to a new location where parking is going to be very difficult so we’ll be taking the bike now more than ever.

I’ve spent the last few weeks getting it prepped to be on the roads in early evenings when it’s getting dark. I got spoke lights for the front wheel (the back wheel is almost entirely obscured by the kids’ seat so it doesn’t make much sense to light it up), an LED string light for the “monkey bars” (around where the kids sit), and LED lights for the basket. We each have a light for our helmets and I put an extra light on the back seat. The bike already came with a headlight (I had to get that fixed) and a rear light that take power from the bike’s battery. I also got my son, who sits at the back, a neon yellow puffy jacket and myself a running/cycling safety vest, along with reflective arm bands so motorists can see my hand signals. 

I know a lot of people think it’s too dangerous to ride in a city, and everyone knows the story of someone who has been in a bad accident. I’m trying hard to be safe, while not letting fear get the best of me. I do believe that if I’m highly visible (which is the case now), I can ride safely in the dark. I am always hyper vigilant on my bike, assuming motorist don’t see me or won’t respect my right to use the lane, and now I’m even more caution. I’ve been riding the bike long enough to feel very comfortable on it; I’m aware of what the bike can and cannot manage in almost any situation. 

Riding the bike continues to bring me a surprising amount of joy and contentment. There is something so freeing about navigating the city with the wind in my hair. And where we live the weather never gets prohibitively cold, so I should be able to keep riding it until next spring.

I’m so thankful that we had the financial resources to get this bike, and that we live in a city where bike lanes are well-marked and common (if not always smoothly paved). Riding a bike is such a great way to keep down carbon emissions and decrease traffic, which is a significant issues in San Francisco. I feel grateful every day I get to ride my bike, which I’ve been doing more and more often–my son and I have taken it all the way across the city, to some of our favorite places that present serious parking challenges. With the battery, I can ride that thing anywhere without breaking a sweat. It really is an incredible invention; it could revolutionize the way people get around.

My daughter doesn’t quite understand that I got all the lights for the bike so we would be visible to cars coming in both directions; she thinks we just lit the thing up like a Christmas tree. And I guess we did.

What happens every morning, no matter how early I wake up or how quietly I tiptoe through the house: minutes after I sit down to scrawl my mornings pages, or write a post, or meditate, my son wakes up, and that is the end of my attempted “me” time. 

It’s the story of my life.