I've been working a lot of overtime recently. I've been getting about 45-50 hours a week, and I make a pretty reasonable wage. I've also had a lot of gigs this month and have even more coming up. In addition, I've started writing for a local magazine and making some extra money that way.
The Goddess has started working again. She's looking for something permanent, but right now she's substitute teaching. She's also had some photography gigs, which pay pretty decently.
You would think with all that work, a family could live pretty comfortably. You would be wrong.
Payday was last Monday. On Friday I stopped by the drug store. I needed soap and I was going to pick up a bottle of bourbon for the weekend. Crystal was working the register. She was a student of mine about 15 years ago, when she was in middle school. I handed her my card.
"It says it was declined."
"Really?" I try to sound more incredulous and surprised than I actually am.
"Do you want to try to run it as a credit?"
I'm not sure what effect this will have, so I say yes. You never know.
Declined again.
"Huh. I'll have to figure out what's going on with my bank." I try to make eye contact so I don't look too ashamed.
"Yeah. Our system has been acting funny all day."
I am grateful for this young woman's willingness to go along with the charade.
What's going on with my bank is that they won't allow me to spend more money than I have in my account. Even at Christmas. They are total dicks that way.
So it's Friday night and I'm out of money. I've got a weekend and another whole week before another payday.
Only I think the Goddess has a gig Saturday night, which is good, because most of them pay cash.
"How much is your gig tomorrow?"
"I think it's canceled. The girl hasn't gotten back to me," she says.
Dammit.
Luckily, I'm meeting my editor (I'll call him Tony) Sunday morning to go over some things for the magazine. I'll get paid then, because I've done a couple of articles. And he usually pays cash, too.
Sunday morning I wake up (late, because I stayed up all night watching Christopher Hitchens debates on YouTube) and my phone is dead. I get it in the charger and then a text comes through. It's from Tony at 6:20 that morning.
"I can't make it today. Just going to bed now."
Fuck.
Okay. But I'm just finishing up four nights of gigs and the band contractor, my friend (I'll call him Joe), will pay me for the rehearsal and three shows. And he still owes me $50 for a paid rehearsal a couple weeks back.
He pays me. So I'm pretty sure I've got enough to get through the week.
Only this guy Chris messages the lead singer of my band (I'll call him X) who is also my cousin and wants to know where the money is for our rehearsal space for November and December. So X gives him my number and he calls me. I tell him I'll get it to him, but it sucks because the bassist and one of the guitar players still have to get their share to me. They both sent it Monday, but that means I have to eat that cost for most of the week until their checks get here.
Then I remember that my auto insurance is going to be taken out on the 15th, which is Tuesday.
Also, I've been ducking calls from the gas company, who I'm pretty sure is telling me they're going to shut off service at some point. I don't listen to the messages because I can't pay it right now anyway and I don't really need another automated reminder of my failure to take care of my responsibilities.
We don't live extravagant lives. We really don't. But we also are trying to live without any consumer debt right now, and we're doing pretty well there.
Childcare kills us. Since we got married, the rules have changed. The Goddess used to get subsidy for childcare. Now we don't qualify. The uptake of this is that she is essentially working to pay for childcare so that she can go to work.
She could stay home with the kids, but we're hoping her income hits a point in the future where she earns more than childcare costs.
And I gotta be honest: Christmas seems designed to remind you how broke you are. Other times of the year you can get by. But no coins at Christmas means no parties and no gifts for the people you love. If you have kids, this is really hard.
Our kids don't need a thing. And they've got lots of people looking out for them. Granny S is helping us out a lot, because the eleven-year-old wants a laptop for video editing. That's okay. I'm not an overly proud person.
But the Monkey is two this Christmas. This is really the first one where he's really aware of what's going on. I'd like to get him something -- I don't even know what yet -- just from me, or from me and the Goddess. Maybe a classic toy, nothing large. Something I bought myself that says, "You are a special little boy and I hope your life is wonderful."
I want this to be special for them, because Christmas was special for me when I was a kid. Sunday night we put up the tree and had cocoa while watching "A Very Murray Christmas." I was dancing with the Goddess and thinking just about how lucky I am. I really get that. We have beautiful kids and a nice house and none of us are starving. We could be floating on a raft in the Mediterranean right now, fleeing oppression, like some of our fellow creatures are doing. Or I could be married to an ugly woman instead.
So I guess I'll suck it up and Bob Cratchit the fuck out of Christmas this year. We say we want to teach the kids to not be materialistic. This seems like a good chance.
But at least I've got another gig tonight. I hope it pays cash.
No comments:
Post a Comment