One of my dear friends (and one of the coolest people I know) is leaving the area for three months or so. She leaves tomorrow, so we went drinking tonight, first to Tiger, Tiger then Baja Betty’s. And you know how it goes: you have a beer, then it is easier to order a margarita (instead of going home like you told your boyfriend you would). Halfway through the margarita, it becomes logical to stay for dinner. And then there you are, nine o’clock at night, whipping out your credit card with nothing written for the day.
Total Wednesday spending:
$10 poetry workshop
$2.50 Doritos at work
$8 beer + tip
$18 margaritas for my friend and I (she’s leaving so it’s my treat) + tip
$18 food + tip
$56.50 Wednesday’s total
Cash money (or drunk money) flows easily from me. I had a twenty dollar bill to start the day, then received ten one dollar bills after my writing workshop. From there, it was easy to buy a snack when I saw a coworker with Doritos. After one beer, it was easy to agree to another bar, easy to treat. And I don’t really regret, though I know at the end of the month I can’t really afford it. I can’t afford it and feel comfortable.
When I was little, money burned a hole in my pocket. My sister could save hundreds, thousands, without spending, but I had to have a goal. A cd player, a bass. Otherwise, the money got spent. Somehow, somewhere. I don’t even know what I spent—what needs I could have had as a twelve year old. I like to believe something has changed. I like to believe I’m better than my coworkers with cute new shoes and great stories about where they went last weekend. I’m not better, just jealous, and I haven’t changed that much since I was twelve. Money is easy. Easy to earn, easier still to lose.