January 5, 2013
The roller-coaster that was 2012 ground to an end after one hell of a year. Most dominant were my health problems. It seemed like the last quarter of the year, with a job change that allowed me to work remotely most of the time, could only bring improvements. But alas, the best laid plans, hm?
A hopeful and determined-to-do-better foray into self care and pain management set off an unanticipated avalanche. Instead of simple relief, I was gifted with a swap of symptoms, incredibly even less manageable and less tolerable than the usual bone-wrenching pain, and unending marrow-deep fatigue.
In my short educational course on chronic pain given by pain specialists, we learned that pain uses the same neural pathways as depression. People who live with unabated or untreatable chronic pain, pain that lasts more than (3, 6, 12 months, or beyond the “expected time to heal”, I was told, are almost certainly depressed: biologically, your brain has been using a pain/depression pathway repeatedly so it’s essentially programmed depression into your brain; realistically, being in pain constantly is draining and having a constant limitation is frakkin’ depressing!
You may have no control over the situation, the pain limits your life and abilities in ways you didn’t anticipate, cannot or do not wish to become accustomed to. “If you’re not depressed now,” the pain specialist physician said, “you’re lying.”
The thing was, I understood the mechanics of why pain = depression thing intellectually. But after nearly twenty years of living with unceasing pain, increasing pain, discovering and failing to surmount increasing limits, I had not yet *felt* the deep-down, isolating, spiraling, rending drag of depression.
I’ve seen it before. I’ve had friends and family drag those demons, firmly attached to their ankles until they finally made it to the other side or curl up in their corners until it all went away. But, for whatever reason, in the face of unrelenting pain and everything else life was throwing at me, I didn’t feel the bite myself.
The pain was a deciding factor in life. Horrible when it flared, but I could trudge through, finding whatever it took to do what I needed to do. (Never mind what I wanted to do. Never mind what I wished for.) I was sad, of course, and sometimes bitter.
Angry at times. I had lost what felt like almost everything: my intended career path, my ability to run, my confidence in my physical strengths which had dwindled down to nearly nothing, my hobbies, my ability to breathe, my stamina to live a full and fulfilled life. I have to question every single thing I do and whether it’s worth the energy loss.
But the anger, bitterness or sad would ebb, and I’d move on. There was work to do. Family and friends to care for. Things to fix.
Until now.
~~~
This fall’s tradeoff for physical functionality being able to get out of bed, walk for more than a few minutes without stopping for breath, not having to hold my breath and force myself power through when the price I pay is being flat on my back for hours or days was mental stability. My center of rational gravity was totally AWOL, disappeared into the quicksand mire of depression and suicidalism.
Each day, though nothing was worth it anymore, though two hands took away and give a finger-length back, a ghost of grit-it-out remained.
At least I can work.
At least I can breathe.
At least I can cook a meal.
At least I can wash five dishes.
At least I can be useful.
Sort of.
(Not really.)
Over and over, day after day, staggering under an assault the likes of which I’d never experienced before, the betrayal of my body seemed like a bargain in comparison to the betrayal of my mind, washing out the foundations of my faith, my drive, my self worth.
Divided against myself, my selves hung, suspended into immobility. The only certainty – I’d done my duty and more than done it and these tatters of my life were a testament to how little my efforts were worth.
Personality, drowned in lassitude, watched the body trying to focus on work, focus on making a dinner, focus on clearing up after.
Body, an automaton, performing duties that look “normal” to keep the world at bay, held off the final dregs of failure, shut out the chant of the mind.
Mind, railing against the life it’d rolled dice for, bore under Atlassian pressures for, sacrificed for. Thrown beyond not wanting to live this life, it couldn’t comprehend anything left, only myriad reasons for leaving.
Every natural instinct was dampened, every nerve and synapse firing prematurely, reactionary and flaring.
Life, I viewed through layers of alternating fury and despair.
~~~
In those muffling and stifling layers, I knew this was off balance. I just didn’t care.
I never don’t care. I care about many things: social equalities, personal achievements, the environment, driving my career, innovating, growing as a person, helping others. Cleanliness, neatness…
But with my mind fractured like this, I was my own worst nightmare. A cripple in every sense of the word. I didn’t have any desire to try when trying was just pain, draining me, like cold death.
For weeks into months, I just held on, anchored by a slim thread. By an unreleased breath. I wasn’t achieving. Wasn’t innovating. Wasn’t happy. Wasn’t resigned or at peace with the illness anymore – I was angry that this was it and none of it worth a thing.
~~~
This was incredibly frustrating for PiC. Because I couldn’t fathom making plans for a day, much less a week or month out. Because all he could see was me, huddled, in the corner. Because he couldn’t hear or understand the litany in my mind. No matter what he said or did, it hurt.
I literally didn’t even have words or voice to speak most days. Because I hated needing help, I hated getting help, I hated that deep down I was convinced that nearly no one believed or understood I had a legitimate problem I couldn’t “just deal with” or “manage.” For certain, no one could comprehend how I really had to live to survive, the world at large just assumed it was easy.
Knowing that I was a frustrating, horrible person to live with, despair or not, underscored the sense of loss. This wasn’t how it should have been. He deserved better.
~~~
For so many years, pretending to the outside world that I was fine, strong and capable was my coping mechanism. Never a smiley chirper – not unless something made me really happy. But fine. Strong. Competent. Unflappable. Partly because no one wants to be around a chronically sick or limited person, accommodating the cripple you’re probably not convinced has a real problem is a pain. Partly because constantly needing accommodations made it more real, partly because if I pretended I was fine, for a few minutes, I could BE fine.
That was maybe not the best way to deal with it. Certainly not for communicating about an invisible disease. But it got me through so much. That and not knowing how to give up.
Then Mom’s passing knocked everything out from under me.
Her support, the sensible loving guidance, I hadn’t had in nearly a decade. I had to think to remember the last time she could travel, could enjoy life, could have fun with me. But I still hadn’t given up, I was certain I could get my Mom back. And I was wrong. For almost a decade, I’d been wrong.
During that time, my sibling’s ups, downs, and ultimate descent into a mad babble – everything I’d done with him was wrong too.
My family, demolished. My strength, gone. My stamina, a faint memory. My future, what future? What future could rise from these ashes?
What else had I been wrong about? Had I done anything right?
~~~
Finally, I gave up on those medications meant to bring me peace, a devil’s bargain, a mind for a body, that revealed a Canto of Hell heretofore unexplored, and took my chances alone, unaided, unbuoyed.
How much worse could it get?
Pain rose and fell as it would. Day after day, I skipped the usual doses until it was unbearable, until I couldn’t move for the lances of pain.
And slowly, pieces of my mind, my self, joined disparate and crackly ends back together. Some quietly, some, continents crashing into each other. The bonding is still fragile, they shiver under stress. But the ragged, jagged edges are less exposed, less a raw nerve laid bare.
I’d never given up before, not even in the darkest nights. So I don’t exactly know what this path will be. How and when it’ll zig, zag or drop out from under my feet.
But I think I remember how to keep moving. That muscle memory may be all that I had left, last fall. And that may be all I need. The worst might be behind me now. Maybe. I don’t know.
Either way, I’m still here today. And I’ll probably be here tomorrow. And that’s not nothing.
~~~
Insight to living with pain, by others:
Katie at Girl with Red Balloon: life with constant migraines, and risk of hemorrhaging thanks to brain
Tessa: writes an incredibly apt comic strip on life with chronic illness.
February 23, 2012
A jaunt
Driving through Los Gatos, the hilly, ridgey, close roads and tall trees parts of town, bursting with real fall colors last November, PiC and our friends and I got to admiring homes and the lands they sat on. Estates, practically, the big houses set back into the cliffs, with horse property, a barn and proper lands set round it.
Nothing at all like what we’d acclimated to near the city with our city streets and dirty little suburbs. No clean suburbs for us, you have to make a lot more before you can afford those. We roved by loads of homes, peering through the trees and vines. Good job it was broad daylight or we’d have looked awfully suspicious.
And then we drove past the castle. An honest to goodness castle thing, twenty rooms it must have had, another structure on the side of the property, a well-into-the-double-digit-millions price tag.
It tumbled me back, way back, to those wonder years, when the future was jostling full of sheer and opaque possibilities, unfettered by realism, untempered by failures.
I could remember when a $200,000 house might well have been a $3M house for all that I had any money and that meant I could dream of anything at all.
Anything at all ….
I dreamt of buying not one, but two houses. One for me, one for my parents. Right on the main boulevard of the town, whatever town I lived in, so I could use the walking trail I imagined would be there with my half a dozen well trained dogs. Or ride my horse, the one that stabled in my back barn. I’d definitely have the best library with a sliding ladder ever.
My parents would be neighbors, of course, they’d never wanted to be far from me. Well, Mom didn’t. If I had married and had children, she wanted to be Right There. They had to be downwind of the barn though, I didn’t want to hear any complaints about my critters. 🙂
I’d have two degrees, graduate and professional, and would be working and saving half that income; I’d be volunteering in my spare time, and setting up a charitable foundation, eventually.
Clearly, an unimaginative kid. A secure home base (note I bought two homes outright, I wasn’t dreaming of any mortgages), to take care of my family, to continue the volunteering I was already doing and be surrounded by pets and books. Basically I wanted to be a kid in adult form. Or something like that.
Twenty years later
I never dreamt I’d have spent this much time dinking around on the Internet when formulating Ye Grand Planne. Or any of the other things I ended up doing instead. But when I look at houses now, it’s a little less aspirationally now that I can attach a price tag of salary and hours to each thing. (Mortgages, interest rates, take home pay, egads!)
I still want the 6 dogs, but will settle for three. I shouldn’t get a horse. But the library is absolutely still on the list. Sometimes, things make me happy.
One house. My dad wouldn’t want to own or live in a whole house alone even if I could afford it.
As for the degrees … As much as it feels like being a failure not to have three degrees in total, I’m not yet willing to pay for another degree that won’t pay for itself several times over or that isn’t paid for by an employer at this point in my career. Things may change but the career trajectory is doing well enough to focus on making substantial strides there rather than taking time off to go to school.
Add:
More travel to see interesting things, eat delicious things, talk to interesting people.
More quality time with the people I don’t see enough.
That charitable foundation, yes. And I still want to be a billionaire to make that work. Don’t care if it’s not strictly necessary. Want.
And the things I can’t have: perfect health. My family intact. So instead, peace. Better health. Happiness. Contentment. And yes, ambition.
:: Do you remember your old dreams? Do you know what happened to them? Have you replaced them with new ones or are you still making them come true?
October 25, 2010
After a wonderful meal at a Korean tofu house with a friend we hadn’t seen for a few months, she wanted to make plans to meet for dinner again during the week before she left town.
That same day, I received a message from another friend who recently relocated to this coast. She planned to be in town to see family, could we have brunch when she landed Saturday? When I wasn’t available, she asked if we could come out to see her across the way Sunday. Though she didn’t specify it was a full day thing, history shows that’s going to be expected. All previous “come hang out with me” invitations have always turned into a day-long finagle-fest because she always wants to do just one more thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy her company but it’s really hard to commit full days to hanging out at the last minute like that because I’m usually running like a madwoman during the week to survive and use the weekends to become human again. Which, as you might imagine, is a little complicated after September’s hosting visitors every weekend (and seeral weekdays) but one.
That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? I quite enjoy seeing friends, of course, but the last minute requests and those that sometimes grow well beyond moderation are rather difficult to accommodate. Or even to want to accommodate; it requires a sanity check to make sure we’re not just constantly running to everyone’s beck and call because they’ve dropped in and didn’t we want to see them?
Sure, but I think it becomes taken for granted that we’ll always be available on their schedule and doesn’t call for much advance notice. That drives me, an inveterate planner, at least a little up the wall. I understand that not all trips are planned as far ahead as I would like but these texts and emails are increasingly and frequently coming with very little notice.
Aside from the limited time factor, I worry about the money we’re spending hand over fist with this stream of visitors. When we host, I can cook and feed them relatively (not very) frugal basis. But many times, we end up eating out because they’re in the city, we’re not, and it’s inconvenient for them to come to us and then trek back to the city.
While PiC and I have agreed on a rule of thumb on eating out, my personal budgeting rules have always stated that “entertaining” comes out of the same eating out allowance lest we end up using the personal 2x/week allowance, and entertain two or three times on top of that. Before you know it, we’ve spent most of the week eating out. My personal budgeting rules have been repeatedly smashed under the weight of the last minute traveler.
We can’t control the travel habits of our friends, and we certainly never want them to feel unwelcome or unloved, but it’s time to gently nudge them toward better notification habits. And we need to learn to set boundaries we’re comfortable with rather than self-guilting ourselves into doing far more for them than is necessary.
Do you have any trouble managing drop-ins or do you have a good standing policy that works well for you and yours?
April 9, 2010
In a lot of ways, my motivation for being responsible is because I don’t ever want to look back and wish I’d tried one thing or started another. In my mind’s eye, five or ten years from now I’m going to have certain wishes and expectations for my life that Present Me has to start to fulfill right now in order for it to come to fruition later.
Owning a Home, Having a Family
There are very few inspirations in life that spring full-form from my imagination and bear fruit immediately. Sometimes I just want a McDonald’s apple pie and that’s just a short walk and a dollar away. Other times, I want cute homemade pies and that’s a whole week of buying ingredients, finding the perfect pots, and settling down to business for a whole day.
I equate life processes with construction: you cannot have a house without a foundation; you cannot have double paned glass in your bay window seat if you never built walls. In the same way, you can’t own a home without having first secured a steady income, saved for a down payment, or managed your bills so that a mortgage would fit comfortably among your other financial obligations.
The same goes for having a family. I don’t have a mental picture of who my family “should” be (which means I fail as an Asian parent already) or what we’ll be doing, but I do know that I want us to all be healthy, hearty and whole. That means I have to have built solid relationships, platonic or romantic, to be a stable person with a spouse with whom I can be happy.
People-watching, and listening to colleagues blow off steam, has revealed that while the most unstable individuals certainly had relationships, they were flighty, nervous, insecure and altogether miserable. Sure, they weren’t miserable alone, but that just meant two people (and all their friends around them) were brought down to the same level.
I can’t control other people, but I can make wiser choices and not torture a potential spouse with unfounded accusations and neuroses that spring from previous choices.
And if I want to retire someday, it’d be a much cushier retirement if I had enough socked away 40 years from now to fund all my retirement schemes.
Reach for the stars
Even though my feet are firmly planted on the ground (and heights make me nervous so they’ll stay there), my head can be in the clouds, dreaming up the destination I’d love to arrive at some day, and mapping out the roads I might take to get there.
I won’t lie, sometimes Future Me is a demanding jerk and Present Me hates her for that.
[1. Ph.D.? Are you serious? How the H*&^%^ do I make that happen while working my way up a ladder to make 6 figures??
2. Really? Make your own wedding dress and learn to speak 4 different languages? Bite me.]
But sometimes Future Me has great ideas and Present Me can’t wait to get started.
January 29, 2009
Kelly at Almost Frugal posed the question: How much extra are you willing to spend?
In this case, she’s looking for a new bed for her daughter. Her mother suggested that she just consider how much EXTRA she’s willing to spend over a baseline price for the item. The theory behind this is that she’s going to pay the baseline price anyway, the only consideration is how much a premium she’s willing to pay on top of that.
That’s very interesting: I’ve always taken total price into consideration, and didn’t actively separate the purchase price from the premium.
In coming weeks, this purchasing perspective will be very applicable to my personal shopping needs. If a new apartment is in the works (I hope I hope!), I’m going to need some basic furniture and tools. Mostly kitchen stuff, and a basic tool kit.
Major factors include distance (how far will I lug stuff) and space (do I have room for stuff). The most significant issue, of course, is cost. Since I don’t anticipate any crazy signing bonus, not a normal thing in my industry anyway, what I’ve got in the moving account is what I got. (A whopping $1498, if you’re curious.)
It’s a balancing act: take enough stuff – avoid shelling out cash for new stuff, pay to haul stuff.
Take too much stuff – no room for it, costs money to lug it to destination.
Take too little stuff – minimize moving expenses and buy at the other end.
With that in mind, I’m debating what to keep and what to leave behind.
A few months ago, my assumption was that when I moved, my parents would be moved out into a smaller, cheaper apartment. Reduce cost and required upkeep: less stress all around. Turns out, around here? No such thing as a cheaper apartment.
Get this: we’re paying as much for our rent (3 bdrm, 2 bath house) as some folks pay for a 2 bdrm apartment. Can you believe that!? We have the amenities of a single family home (in home laundry, no share-the-wall neighbors) with the associated utility costs. Most importantly, though, we have the freedom to keep our pets. My sole surviving dog of our former 3-pack is a large breed, and no apartment within 30 miles will allow her breed or size. Not even for a premium. And there is NO WAY I will turn out my dog. None, nada, nope, never.
After parking, laundry, fees, and pets are considered, it doesn’t look like we’d be saving more than a few hundred per month, if that. That means that staying put is an option, and that means that I could keep some of my heavier (really old) stuff in my room. Renting out one room to help with cost is a possibility, but I could also still keep my room and have a home base.
The desk: is a 12 year old heavy particle board executive desk. (Yes, I was a spoiled brat and *needed* the 6 foot wide desk with a hutch. We paid way too much for it. But I’ve used every inch of it and work at it every single night.) Doubtful that I would take it with, it’s survived a couple moves but it’s way too heavy for me to haul up and down stairs. I’d like to be as minimalist as possible in case I have to move all by myself.
The bed: is a 13 year old twin day bed. Same old frame and mattress. I’d like to take it with because it can be set pretty high off the ground to create extra storage space vertically. For once in my life I’d love a double, but it’s not a need.
The bookshelf: it’s comin’ with me! I use a deconstructible (uh, is that a word? I’m not a wordsmith today) steel framed bookshelf. Nothing fancy. Just four shelves in black, and I like being able to hook things into the zigzags of the shelves.
A storage bench: this comes with me too. I got this storage bench from Ikea, unfortunately in white, but it’s great because it’s got foam padding on top and storage inside. A decent bed in a pinch. Maybe I’ll just use that as a bed until I get a good deal on a real one?
Chair: I don’t even know how old this desk chair is, but the hydraulics still work, it’s got enough padding on the back to serve. It’ll go with.
Lamps: My friend gave me his extra floor lamp a couple years ago and it’s still working well, as is the ten dollar Target desk lamp that sits by my bed. Both go with.
Misc (Clothes, shoes, and books): I think the books will be the heaviest since I have so many paperbacks and trade paperbacks (comics). They’re my indulgence! I have pared down the paperbacks, pulled out about 150 of them and a good friend who shares a PaperBackSwap account with me listed them for swap. It’s awesome, I supply the books, he supplies the labor, we share the benefits of getting cheap books.
Some basic clothes will stay here, but all the comfy and professional clothes go with me. I’ve already spent a lot of time paring down here too, but I could use another concentrated go at it.
Same with the shoes: some will stay here, but I’d like to make sure we’re down to the essentials only. The definition of essentials will depend on where I go.
Kitchen: there’s nothing in this kitchen I would take from my parents, other than a few favorite glasses/mugs. Maybe the Brita. My parents don’t like it anyway. For that, I’ve got about $80 left on a Bed, Bath and Beyond gift card and some coupons. A pot, a pan, a few dishes and utensils from Ikea should do the trick.
I wonder if it’s too early to set my baseline prices for a bed and desk substitute?
I’m not sure if I’d be willing to yard sale a bed, but a desk would be fine. Perhaps I can hold out on shopping until yard sale season?
December 5, 2008
An official announcement hasn’t been made, but the word is that our entire staff is likely to be laid off in a few months. You might know that SOP for layoffs is denial until the moment of truth, no matter how wrong I think that is.
Call it naivete, but I certainly did not expect to run a gamut of emotions when my prediction months ago was confirmed. Keeping in mind the huge numbers of people being laid off, at best, I expected frustration, a little tiny bit of vindication that I was right, and a readiness to move on. It turns out I’m not that simple. And that I play devil’s advocate with myself even when I’m upset. Read on ….
Exasperation
There are about ten thousand ways that this could have been prevented. Really. This is not a poor-economy related issue, this was a bad management issue, and it’s no surprise.
Anger
Unsurprised or not, it ticks me off, royally, that management wouldn’t change their ways even when we were in a poor negotiating position. They continued to act as though they had the power to make demands, break promises and generally acted the fools. That led directly to the current situation.
Anxiety
I’m not ready for this! I associate unemployment with (immediate) brokeness. Even though I know approximately how many months I would last without a drop of income, there’s still a visceral reaction that a major emergency will eat up all that money and I’ll immediately go into debt trying to survive without a steady paycheck. That’s silly. I’ve taken a few months off between jobs, without having a job, having less in the bank before. Yes, that was four years ago when the outlook wasn’t terrible and I wasn’t paying all household expenses. But I’ve got the budget, the e-fund, the cushion. And it’s not like I haven’t supported other friends while they downsized and job-hunted and become re-employed in the last six months. This is survivable.
Shame
Even though I brought my A-game every single day, regardless of the politics and turmoil, I’m actually a little ashamed that I didn’t manage to save us. And is there stigma attached to being laid off? Even in this environment? There shouldn’t be, and I can confidently state that it’s through no fault of my own. My performance and abilities are respected, even if it feels like management’s failures reflect on me.
Helplessness/Depression
This wasn’t advertised except to a select few but I’ve been preparing and job-hunting during the last few months. My tolerance for the BS was about to crack spectacularly so I took steps to prevent going postal. The resume was perfected in August, and I’ve been quietly applying to new jobs while working insane hours and trying to keep up with everything else. Nothing has resulted so far, and even though I know, intellectually, that the job search while holding a full time job combined with a downturn in the economy means that it’s going to take longer, I still can’t help but mentally wring my hands for a minute. Or file this under frustration.
Confusion
How are the people who DO know the intimate details managing to pretend everything is status quo?
Loss
There’s a sense of regret that a huge part of my life is going away. Why on earth would I feel like I’m losing something leaving this job? It’s been a major source of frustration and negativity for months. Yet, there it is.
De-motivation
I’m not at all inspired to work, work hard, and work well today. Considering I work through natural disasters, this is a little different. Because of the combination of the above emotions, I just don’t care today. It doesn’t matter whether or not I perform well today, as I did yesterday or the day before that. I’m still going to be out of a job. Except that’s not true. I still have my pride and self-respect, and at the end of the day, that’s what I’ll be taking home with me. Among other things I’ll be taking home with me: my work laptop, that lovely new spindle of CD-RWs, and a lifetime supply of pens and toilet paper. Nick at Punny Money says it’s ok.
I’m kidding!!!
So the other side of all this? Barring the part where I’m not making any money because that’s not good no matter how you spin it, this is motivation to search even more diligently for a new job while I still have one.
Opportunity
This is a chance to start fresh, and that’s not such a bad thing. Sure, being the bottom of the employment totem pole is not where I want to be, but there’s nothing saying that that’s the only place I’ll get hired. I’m not entry-level, I’ve got great skills, I work damn hard, and have an excellent reputation. Now I have to learn to sell whatever doesn’t shine through in a cover letter and resume.
At the end of the day, Pandora’s Box still had one important thing to give, and that’s what I’ll hold on to: Hope. Hope that better things are still to come, hope that I’m resilient enough to handle this change, hope that this isn’t the straw that breaks this camel’s back after all the nonsense that’s gone before. (Hope that this time next year I won’t be reporting that I’m completely broke, in debt and at the end of my rope……!)
Faith
Despite all the negativity and doubt, deep down, I still have faith that there are ways to get past this rather ugly situation. There are, I just have to find and implement them.
Relief
In my frustration after my farce of a review early this year, I decided that I wanted to be ready to pick up my purse and saunter out without a moment’s regret. That’s how ticked I’ve been with the poor team building, blatant double standards and favoritism-based policies. I cleared out my desk then, and have only kept food here since. Not having to “stick it out” under this sort of stress because it’s practical is kind of a huge weight off. Or I’m trading for a different weight. 🙂
Determination
Did I say I was de-motivated? That’s only in terms of this job right now, not the next one. I’m absolutely charged with the energy to find the next place where I can give my time and dedication to a good cause. (And receive a good check, in return, of course!!)
Alternate plan
If I don’t land anything before the layoff? I’ll take my severance, and my unemployment, and go nanny my best friend’s newborn for a couple months while I continue to job hunt. The timing’s about right. They’ll “pay” me room and board, and I’ll pay for COBRA. And thank PF-blogging for a good emergency fund. But what to do with my parents …..
Edit: I forgot to link to this great article guest posted by Jacques Sprenger at The Digerati Life: Are you in Financial Trouble? Money Tips to Cope with Hard Times.
October 1, 2008
(‘though, how often are revelations expected?)
While flipping through my planner for the thousandth time this morning, something caught my eye. I had today marked as the first of three paydays. Which is great! After all, it’s an integral part of The Plan, and when is a three paycheck month ever bad? Exactly!
Except I was just paid last week. And since that clearly did happen, and we don’t get paid weekly, my planner must be wrong.
That means I’ve thwarted myself by incorrectly planning on three paydays in October instead of December. Drats.
This isn’t a disaster, it’s just a little disappointing that there won’t be a whole check I can throw at savings/expenses. I’ll work out the math a little later.
