Behind the Pretty Pictures

I'm bored with journal backgrounds.
Truth is, what gets written on them doesn't always match the images, mood, colors.
Today, in fact, I wrote about making a hairbrained banking mistake that ended up costing me $400 in insufficient funds fees. FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS. I forgot about a monthly automatic withdrawal for my truck payment. That withdrawal hit at the same time my other myriad paid bills hit. $400 later ...
So I barely made it out of the office (after one of my usual HORRID Fridays) and into my truck before I was sobbing.
Four hundred dollars. You know, basically vaporized, because I had a blond moment.
As if I ever have enough money for groceries as it is.
Why is it that when I'm the most angry at myself, I suddenly find myself hating everything and everyone else -- in particular, right now, anyone with money, ANY money, of ANY kind, that isn't measured to the second digit to the right of the decimal point every waking moment of every waking hour. I'm viewing my checking account 12 times a day, just to make sure, make sure, the money is stretching far enough.
FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS.
Then there's the newly-turned 47 year old 'woman' having to ask her Lovely Mother for assistance to cover said $400 (being as I don't have it, anywhere, not even up my butt), assistance which was kindly and immediately given. But let me just add $400 to the I.O.U. I had almost entirely, diligently, with exceeding effort, paid back. I'm still paying Mom back for one of the lab fees from my oldest male child's accident a year ago, but that's another story. [And before anyone asks why isn't HE paying it, it's because he has about $5,000 in other bills the insurance didn't pay that he's taking care of. Personally, I'm happy enough to have him alive & coherent that one lousy lab bill seemed like the least I could do to show my appreciation.] My point is that, at my age, it's more than a little excruciating to turn to Mommy (or anyone else) to get bailed out, and it's months (now) of continued eking payments out of non-existent monies to pay her back. Because I WILL pay her back.

I bawled all the way home. I came in the door, went directly to the bathroom to change clothes, bawling. I walked back to my studio (past my youngest male child at the computer in our back room) to retrieve my diet coke and journal, bawling, scaring both said child and my cat. I told my son what happened, bawling, and went to sit outside. Bawled. Opened my journal then dropped my face into my hands and bawled full force. Kept bawling but decided to try to write. Wrote the "F" word at least 25 times, in dark black ink, but the bawling then started to subside. Today's journal background happens to be one of lacy flowers and beautiful girly happy images. So much for that.

I was tired of pretty pictures. Felt like my blog was becoming ... stale, superficial. Decided to share what goes on behind the scenes. Four hundred dollars. Four. Zero. Zero. No groceries this week, or probably next. Gas? who knows, have half a tank right now. Lunches? I hope we've got eggs cuz I can make egg salad last an eternity and never get tired of eating it.

NO. I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm angry. I'm frustrated at this feeling, AGAIN, that every time I start to loosen the financial choke chain, some stoopid shite happens and I'm back being throttled again. There is NO such thing as 'free money' in our situation, here. And I'm so disgusted with, frustrated by, the stupidity of my mistake that I don't even know how I'm going to tell Double BB. THAT is the worst part.