Yesterday, I had a minor panic attack at Best Buy as I swiped my card to purchase W's birthday present (Oct. 19), and the card was denied.
Cue incessant mumblings and erratic thoughts ("That's weird." Someone stole
This is where I remind you all, dear readers, that W is a third year medical student and that I have been working for a non-profit since graduating from college. All of this equates to our 2002 Ford Escape being more valuable than our lives (plus all of our possessions) combined.
We are worth more alive than dead. I'm not sure, but I don't think that is a good thing.
|Farmer's market spoils.|
Now, I am not one to wallow in my depravity and all that, because, well, we have a roof over our heads. Does it leak? Absolutely. But its there and that's a whole heck of a lot more than what a good majority of the world's population can say.
Yet, I find it difficult every now and then to not look at our bank account balance with a sinking heart and feel as if we may not make it these 21 more months until W graduates living off of one very sorry excuse for a paycheck. But then, I look down at my feet to the pair of very nice leather loafers upon them, and although there is a hole opening up along the sole and I only paid a fraction of their original cost, I am reminded of the luxury I had to choose the color and style and the ability to buy them new and in my size.
I may balk every week at the ever increasing expense of groceries. How can I spend $120 a week at the grocery store and still have an empty fridge!? But, I am well-fed with food that I get to pick out and prepare myself. (I have an extra 10 lbs. in the general vicinity of my entire body to prove this fact.) It literally hurts me, searing pain burning a path down the center of my forehead, to throw that kind of cash at Kroger and continue to not fit into my skinny jeans, but I am sincerely grateful for it all the same.
Its hard to complain with a full belly.
I literally hate myself every time I pay our cell phone bill, but that doesn't hinder my stalker-worthy devotion to Instagram and Facebook. I worry that my withdrawal symptoms should the iPhone be taken away might rival that of heroin.
I mean, I can see pictures of Kim Kardashian's fish face whenever I want!! Thanks, iPhone!
Seriously, I will drive on gas fumes for days to avoid filling my tank. Then, when I finally break down and (God forbid) pump my own gas, I make jokes about cutting my arm and bleeding myself into the tank since it already has my soul. I tend to be the only one who finds these jokes remotely amusing.
Having to drive around in bulky hunks of metal that require fossil fuels makes me pine for Hogwarts. The ability to Apparate would come in real handy right now.
Thanks for nothing, J.K. Rowling.
|My sweet, vintage fox bracelet.|
The truth no matter how I present it is this: My life is really easy compared to some. I've got it pretty damn good.
If I want, I can watch the Kardashians every Sunday night (and, oh how I love to watch them) in air conditioning (or gas heat should I so desire) drinking a chilled beverage (Brita water, please).
I mean, I carry the Internet in my pocket.
So, I think I will just sit back and shut up. In 21 months, W will be a resident. He will become a phantom husband, yes. But, no more medical school tuition! I could cry!
If medical school (beast that it is) has taught me one thing it is this: you don't get what you don't work for. Sure, there are people out there who get everything they want without lifting a finger, but I would venture to say that they constitute a very small percentage of people.
So for the next 21 months, W will continue to study long hours and pay thousands of dollars to gain experience and audition for a residency spot. I will continue to work for my meager contributions to our living expenses. We will eat. We will be sheltered. We will wear clothes. We will drive our cars. We will be just fine.
W and I will listen to great music and revel in the unity that comes from a dwindling bank account.
By the way, my card eventually went through at Best Buy, and I got W the perfect present. TAKE THAT, bank account.
PS - Paul McCartney is our joint crush, and this song was the inspiration for this post.