tattooofhername

Everything sucks, man.

Out in the wide wild world of social media, I've been talking about how we're trying to move out of this absolute shithole of an apartment because we're been here too fucking long, everything is broken, the appliances suck, no one ever comes out to fix anything (except the toilet. They've always been good about toilet issues), the paint is ALL chipping off, and there's most likely a horrible mold growth going on in the walls that we can't exactly do anything about. But one thing that was getting to me with trying to figure out how to make it work was trying to suss out WHERE all our money was going. Like, this place is less that $600 a month, which, in this day and age is NOTHING (part of the reason I've been willing to put up with it being awful and ignored for so long). The car is paid off at this point. We don't go out for steak and lobster regularly. We don't plan extravagant, truffle filled meals. Jer's making decent money at his job (a fine change from years of Pizza Hut Poverty), and yet we get to the end of a pay cycle and there's NOTHING left. WHERE is it going????

Turns out that, unbeknownst to me, we're sitting on a stack of credit card debt that's eating an entire bonus rent payment a month. I THOUGHT we took care of that the last time that we tried to do the moving thing, but apparently not, and it's just been ballooning more and more over the last 8 years because minimum payments don't mean jack shit. (that doesn't explain where ALL of it is going, but it is a BIG ASS culprit) So, as it stands, with this pile of bill sitting in our way, I don't even know WHY we're even looking at trying to move because we straight up can't afford it. Or, at least, anything around town that we can afford is even more a shithole than the place that we're in now, or is an 800 square foot 'house' that's rundown as hell. And, like, I don't want to move into a crapshack as my forever home. I want something DECENT. I don't want a palace, I don't want a manor, I just want a house with reasonably sized bedrooms, a kitchen where I can put my mixer on the counter, and a bathroom with a bathtub. And, around here, that means you're looking at at LEAST $250k and a mortgage payment of $1200 a month.

We can't DO $1200 a month.

And, like, a big chunk of me is like 'well, if your lazy ass would get a JOB you could actually swing it. It's not like Mally is a baby anymore. She can take care of herself and doesn't need you in the house.' And then I feel bad about the fact that the idea makes me panicky because if I was just less USELESS and I could be worthwhile. And, like, all this, right now, is making me want to start doubling my antidepressants because I'm feeling like an absolute sack of shit of a person because I can't do anything. Part of the deal with this relationship with Jer was that I got to be the 1950s housewife. I'd make dinner, keep the place clean, make sure Mally got raised up nice, and in exchange I'd be taken care of. I wouldn't have to worry. I wouldn't have to fight my anxiety everyday to function. I could just be and it would all be fine. And now I feel like it's all my fault that it isn't because I'm bad at being a person.

I just want my own house. I just want to be able to be quiet and left alone and not having to worry about everything. I wish that wasn't too much to ask.