I write for money. I'm broke a lot.
Also? Colin Firth could get it.
Gmail me at ccr002
Find me on Twitter at cloudyarecinos
I’ve started doing the groceries at Target. I always bring my own bags. And today I was all, “You counted all three bags, right?” Because that’s 30 cents altogether, and that adds up you know?
I also use Cartwheel which saves me an average extra $5.
I also use Shopkick, which means I usually have a $5 gift card.
All of this adds up to a weekly grocery bill of under $60.
edit: also RedCard.
Yeah we don’t do Wegman’s or Trader Joe’s anymore. I’m okay with that.
Which is ridiculous because I obviously can. I mean, I will. I’m going to finish crying and then I’m going to un-fetal position myself and wipe the snot off my face and keep on going. Obviously. Just keep on.
But man. Right now? I can’t.
I can’t deal with this kid anymore and the arguing and the talking back and the whining and the WILL of him. I can’t fight anymore. I can’t wipe and change and bathe and cuddle and chauffeur and pick up after. I can’t. I can’t.
I can’t keep coming in second to everybody I mean all I need is a laptop with keys that function. That’s all I need to bring in money. That’s fucking it. But I’m stuck with a shit machine because Ken needed my laptop for work and now I can’t type any U’s or P’s.
I can’t keep going for days on only four hours of sleep. I can’t paint the entire interior of a house on my own and scrape wallpaper off the walls and learn how to use a nail gun. I can’t make $200 a week stretch enough to cover groceries AND preschool AND kid supplies AND still have enough left over to replace the bras that are currently being held together by safety pins. I can’t have dinner ready at the end of every day. I can’t clean another fucking toilet. I can’t anymore. I can’t.
But I’m going to. Right after I finish crying.
Because duh. I’m fucking awesome.
1. I’ve been waking up at 5:30 every day so I can get some quiet writing time. I can’t blink too long or I might fall asleep. I can’t get horizontal or I might fall asleep. Coffee is my new Colin Firth.
2. Speaking of Colin Firth, did you know his lips have their own Facebook page? I’ll bet you didn’t. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.
3. The thing about existential angst is that it’s hard to embrace that this is all there is and will ever be. That your life is a closed circle. You’ll never be a superhero. You’ll never be a Tibetan monk or a tribal princess or an astronaut. There is just this. There is just you. To be happy is to accept that. To put a period at the end of the sentence: That is all
5. I’m taking kiddo on a steam engine train ride today. I’m going to pretend I’m a pioneer.