Andrew is in Chelan with his parents, and I am here.
I would feel better about being here if I didn’t have a raging case of PMS and a compelling need to figure out how to make more money.
The air is gushing out of the little financial cushion we had made together.
A week ago we were looking at houses, and now we are trying to figure out how to pay for a car we don’t need or want because to get rid of it would be more expensive than keeping it.
And my unemployment money is gone. I am working, but not enough. The most depressing bit is that I would have to work full-time at minimum wage just to cover what I was making on unemployment. I’m not frustrated that I would have to work full-time, mind you. I’m just staring square in the face the fact that I left a good-paying job (however much I hated it) to work 12 hours a week as a secretary and with no prospects for anything better.
All this has descended like a cloud on me, and for the first time in a long time, I am alone trying to see some sunshine.
There is nothing he could do about it, but he always listens, and he knows how to make me feel better. But not today.