JP Shawhappy hump day: MONEY WOES
Okay I know I shouldn't use this blog to complain about the fractured non-existence of greenery in my budget. I can't help it. It's Wednesday and you all know what that means. It's worry day--(for me at least) and this week I am worried.
I woke up the other day and discovered the small little crack in my windshield had suddenly (with the help of the cold) decided to streak it's way from the passenger side of the vehicle all the way over to the drivers side. GREAT! That's a $300 deductible, not to mention a ticket waiting to happen and points on DH's license if we don't fix it soon.
Our cable is about to be shut off. We already lost our phone. The ambulance bills for babe keeping coming in, and today I got a bill for the boys last dentist visit. All because our health system refuses to acknowledge we are poor and not hiding a golden egg or a 70 foot yacht in the attic of our small three bedroom town home.
I hate being broke.
Worse I hate being behind on our bills.
It always leaves me wanting recess peanut butter cups, which aren't good for my hips or thighs -- just ask them. Who knew being a struggling writer would be so difficult. I sure didn't. If only I could land a book deal my brain says each and every day I wake up--dreaming that glorious dream. You know the kind where everything works out, the good guys wearing white cowboy hats battle the dark hatted fellows threatening to torture you to death, and everyone--everyone walks away happy.
Alas, struggling is a part of life. Isn't it? I still hate being broke. What can I say? I like having a phone to call people and television to watch.
What's even worse is soon we may lose our Internet connection and then I will be forced to drastic measures of selling myself for peanuts just so I can connect wirelessly for my regular writing fix. What's a girl to do?
I mean I know I cannot work because our son has disabilities. DH has disabilities as well and it's not easy -- for any of us. Yet I cannot stop the compelling nag stranded inside my skull who natters at me each time I happen to browse by a sign reading: HELP WANTED.
I'm 34 years old. I'm married (a good thing) for all concerned. I have two gorgeous boys, a roof over my head, food in my cupboards, and ideas cramming my brain day and night to put down on paper. Something wonderful will happen soon. I just know it.
In the meantime I will sit and stew over this a while. I will worry till the creases in my face stretch to age me another year older. I will sweat with fear at losing my beloved connection to you all while I try to figure out how on earth I'm going to come up with six hundred dollars to pay everyone we owe (and after Christmas) which is just silly to even think it can be done.
I will -- be okay. I have two working hands, a pen and a ton of paper in my office. Maybe I'll sit down and write about my life, interesting enough to sell a million copies worldwide and find that dream I dream so fanciful for myself.
It could happen.
Until next week and the next worry.
Live well. Laugh often. Love much. Life is too short to do anything else.
x Jo
Sassy Ink Author
Parent Writer