the fallacy of debt

So I thought I was doing pretty good. I opened a savings account, I stopped eating out five nights a week, I gave up my cappuccinos. I haven’t had a Marshall’s binge in over two months.

I have had a lovely and wonderful time over the last few months, participating in all these joyous weddings, the vacation and evacuation festivities, and I have tried not to think of the consequences so that I might more fully enjoy the experiences and avoid obsessing over all the money I was spending.

Well that, my friends, has come to its bitter end. I just received my credit card statements and I can deny the truth no longer. I am fucked. F-U-C-K-E-D. You know, I don’t know where all my money went. I’m wearing winter clothes from like three years ago, my boots are leftovers from college (COLLEGE!!), I am brown-bagging the lunch and brewing my own coffee, I am doing EVERYTHING they tell you to do to save money and STILL. The debt!! I am late with the rent, I am late with the car payment, I am neck-deep in reserve credit and I am wearing CHUNKY HEELED BOOTS CIRCA 2001. WHAT THE FUCK.

I can’t get a second job because I am often required to work late at my day job, and I am loathe to work weekends because, really now, weekends. But I may just have to do that. Goodbye, sleeping in on saturdays, goodbye sunday brunch. God, it just makes me want to stick my head in the oven.

So if you are my friends or my family, don’t expect too much by way of christmas presents, and if you’d like to come visit me I’ll be holed up in my apartment living on ramen noodles and water.

And cheap vodka.


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