I'm a month into the "following a budget" thing, and life is different. I no longer wake up in a panic - will I be able to pay the rent, the electric bill, my student loan? Yes, I will. I know that because I know where my money is going, and I know there's enough.
As I grow a little more confident in my abilities, I'm noticing other changes. My bank statement is really short - there are no unplanned purchases on it. No quick trips to Target or "emergency" meals out. I have enough for the things I need, and a few of the things I want. Like right now, I'm munching on a snack of roasted almonds at my desk. I keep a big container of them in my desk now, so when I need an afternoon snack I'm not running to the vending machine for an 80-cent Milky Way bar. Although that does sound delicious ...
Anyhoo, the almonds are my choice. I planned ahead, I bought a vat of almonds, and I've got snacks for several weeks. Less spendy, and better for me. Funny how that stuff works out.
Little by little, I'm learning ... becoming who I'm supposed to be.
In other news, evidently I'm also supposed to be strong. I went to the gym on Saturday (Di came along - blast!) and we did strength training and cardio classes. I don't have a single muscle that isn't crying today. Not complaining, mind you, just a little ouchie and desperately in need of a massage. Volunteers?
So it's another week in Maggie's World, with a three-day fantastic vacation at the end. I'm thinkin' this is gonna be a good week.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Lists and plans
I love making lists and I love making plans. I love planning vacations almost as much as I love taking vacations, and vacations mean lists! Things to do, things to pack, things to eat ... I love it all.
So I'm taking a vacation. It's not the island getaway I wish I could have, but it's a little something lovely in the midst of a crazy year. There isn't enough money to whisk myself away to somewhere beautiful, and I've used up all my vacation time between surgery and other required appointments, so my vacation for 2009 is happening over Labor Day Weekend.
As soon as I get done with work on Friday, September 4, I'm getting in the car and pointing it North to Wisconsin. I'm torn about my destination, for sure. It would be wonderful to head South to Jacksonville and see the Rices and the Carlsons - including my favorite Marine - but I'm feeling the need to be selfish with my time, and spend most of it with just little old me. I need to unhook a little bit from the craziness in the world and ... just ... be.
So I'm heading to Lake Geneva. I'll be staying with my friend Amber, who has a great condo in the woods. If the weather cooperates, I'll spend my days lounging by the pool. If it doesn't, I'll spend them curled up inside with a good book. My plan is to turn off the phone, and tune in to me. I'll take walks, practice yoga, cuddle the dogs, visit the lake, swim, go to karaoke, eat some delicious food and take a long bath. Maybe I'll write, maybe I'll eat a mushroom burger, maybe I'll skip stones.
But no matter what I do, here's what I promise not to do: make a list. I'm not doing it. I really am unhooking, relinquishing my grip on plans and letting things happen as they will. If I forget to pack something, oh well. I can go a few days without underwear. If I forget to do something, it won't matter. It's just me and Amber, anyway ... no big deal. So, a week from today, off I'll go on my three-day vacation. I will miss you. I will really miss Ryan, who is only in from Quantico for a quick weekend visit, and Cindy, who will celebrate her birthday on September 7. I'll miss my biological family and my friends and my cat, but I think I'm gonna have a blast, anyway.
It's only a week away. I'm gonna try not to count the days.
So I'm taking a vacation. It's not the island getaway I wish I could have, but it's a little something lovely in the midst of a crazy year. There isn't enough money to whisk myself away to somewhere beautiful, and I've used up all my vacation time between surgery and other required appointments, so my vacation for 2009 is happening over Labor Day Weekend.
As soon as I get done with work on Friday, September 4, I'm getting in the car and pointing it North to Wisconsin. I'm torn about my destination, for sure. It would be wonderful to head South to Jacksonville and see the Rices and the Carlsons - including my favorite Marine - but I'm feeling the need to be selfish with my time, and spend most of it with just little old me. I need to unhook a little bit from the craziness in the world and ... just ... be.
So I'm heading to Lake Geneva. I'll be staying with my friend Amber, who has a great condo in the woods. If the weather cooperates, I'll spend my days lounging by the pool. If it doesn't, I'll spend them curled up inside with a good book. My plan is to turn off the phone, and tune in to me. I'll take walks, practice yoga, cuddle the dogs, visit the lake, swim, go to karaoke, eat some delicious food and take a long bath. Maybe I'll write, maybe I'll eat a mushroom burger, maybe I'll skip stones.
But no matter what I do, here's what I promise not to do: make a list. I'm not doing it. I really am unhooking, relinquishing my grip on plans and letting things happen as they will. If I forget to pack something, oh well. I can go a few days without underwear. If I forget to do something, it won't matter. It's just me and Amber, anyway ... no big deal. So, a week from today, off I'll go on my three-day vacation. I will miss you. I will really miss Ryan, who is only in from Quantico for a quick weekend visit, and Cindy, who will celebrate her birthday on September 7. I'll miss my biological family and my friends and my cat, but I think I'm gonna have a blast, anyway.
It's only a week away. I'm gonna try not to count the days.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The eye of the beholder
I struggle every day with body image. It goes back ages and ages, to when the earth's crust cooled and I was born. I've never felt comfortable in my skin. I've always been embarrassed by my looks - the whole of me, big head, big butt, jiggly thighs, abundance of chins, round shoulders, the loaf of French bread that sits atop my waist band, the face only a mother could love - and sometimes she had trouble. But it's me, and I've grown to accept it. I'm never going to be the stereotypical beauty, and over time I've found gratitude for that.
Sometimes it's a battle, though. A few weeks ago, I saw myself in the window while I was out to lunch with some of my co-workers. I had to change seats; I kept catching glimpses of myself out of the corner of my eye, and I just couldn't stand to look at myself. Then last week I went with Shakespeare while she tried on dresses for a wedding she's going to be in. Have you ever been to the wedding dress store? Mirrors and mirrors and mirrors. I had to focus on my friend, because every now and then I'd see me, and I just couldn't look. I feel prettier than the girl I see, and when faced with my own reflection, I'm shocked and sad. I'd rather not look.
And then, sometimes, there are moments of true appreciation, moments when I shock myself with acceptance and even (gasp!) love. Last night, after an hour of Ninja class (I'm back to using weights for the first time after surgery, and it felt awesome!) and an hour of salsa, I stayed for yoga. I was stretching over my left leg, grasping my ankle with my right hand, and I thought to myself, "That is a pretty foot." Now I've always liked my feet, and my ankles. There's a delicate beauty to them, and maybe there's something in the way that they carry me through every day that makes me appreciate them. But there I was, in yoga class, with my brain all open and mushy as often happens when I've stretched myself both physically and mentally, and the one thought that enters my head is that my foot is pretty.
I know it's just a foot. I know I'm a far cry from feeling as whole, complete and perfect as I intellectually believe I am. But in those moments, I am so grateful to see even the tiniest part of myself as beautiful. It's a small step, but isn't that what feet are for?
Sometimes it's a battle, though. A few weeks ago, I saw myself in the window while I was out to lunch with some of my co-workers. I had to change seats; I kept catching glimpses of myself out of the corner of my eye, and I just couldn't stand to look at myself. Then last week I went with Shakespeare while she tried on dresses for a wedding she's going to be in. Have you ever been to the wedding dress store? Mirrors and mirrors and mirrors. I had to focus on my friend, because every now and then I'd see me, and I just couldn't look. I feel prettier than the girl I see, and when faced with my own reflection, I'm shocked and sad. I'd rather not look.
And then, sometimes, there are moments of true appreciation, moments when I shock myself with acceptance and even (gasp!) love. Last night, after an hour of Ninja class (I'm back to using weights for the first time after surgery, and it felt awesome!) and an hour of salsa, I stayed for yoga. I was stretching over my left leg, grasping my ankle with my right hand, and I thought to myself, "That is a pretty foot." Now I've always liked my feet, and my ankles. There's a delicate beauty to them, and maybe there's something in the way that they carry me through every day that makes me appreciate them. But there I was, in yoga class, with my brain all open and mushy as often happens when I've stretched myself both physically and mentally, and the one thought that enters my head is that my foot is pretty.
I know it's just a foot. I know I'm a far cry from feeling as whole, complete and perfect as I intellectually believe I am. But in those moments, I am so grateful to see even the tiniest part of myself as beautiful. It's a small step, but isn't that what feet are for?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Downward dog
I went back to yoga last night. It was the third hour of my Monday night workout. Amazing.
When I left the office, I didn't think I was up to a rigorous workout ... or any workout, for that matter. I just didn't feel like making any effort. Then I realized Alisa wasn't teaching Strike (the cool kickboxing class with weighted bars that makes me feel all ninja) so I went to hip-hop instead. In case you didn't know, I am a part of the rhythm nation. It was a tough dance that made me really really think, but I felt great dancing.
Followed that up with an hour of salsa/funk, which is always awesome. Donna is just amazing; her spirit fills the room. It just always feels amazing spend that hour moving and celebrating our ability to move.
And then there was yoga. It's been a really long time! In fact, I think the last time I practiced was when Racheal and I went to class on July 4, 2008, and then followed it up with a DVD up at the lake house last summer. I'm way out of practice, but I've gotta start somewhere ... and this was the class to do it. I attended with my dear friend Linda and her sister Lorna, and the three of us had a wonderful time. I left feeling relaxed and a little emotional, and really good that I'd done it. All weird cramps and lack of flexibility aside, it will be the perfect addition to my workout routine, and one I've been trying to do since January. Sometimes, it just takes me awhile.
Like our instructor said last night, it's not about being perfect. It's about being better. So every day, I'll try to do a little bit better. Not much more we can ask, now, is there?
When I left the office, I didn't think I was up to a rigorous workout ... or any workout, for that matter. I just didn't feel like making any effort. Then I realized Alisa wasn't teaching Strike (the cool kickboxing class with weighted bars that makes me feel all ninja) so I went to hip-hop instead. In case you didn't know, I am a part of the rhythm nation. It was a tough dance that made me really really think, but I felt great dancing.
Followed that up with an hour of salsa/funk, which is always awesome. Donna is just amazing; her spirit fills the room. It just always feels amazing spend that hour moving and celebrating our ability to move.
And then there was yoga. It's been a really long time! In fact, I think the last time I practiced was when Racheal and I went to class on July 4, 2008, and then followed it up with a DVD up at the lake house last summer. I'm way out of practice, but I've gotta start somewhere ... and this was the class to do it. I attended with my dear friend Linda and her sister Lorna, and the three of us had a wonderful time. I left feeling relaxed and a little emotional, and really good that I'd done it. All weird cramps and lack of flexibility aside, it will be the perfect addition to my workout routine, and one I've been trying to do since January. Sometimes, it just takes me awhile.
Like our instructor said last night, it's not about being perfect. It's about being better. So every day, I'll try to do a little bit better. Not much more we can ask, now, is there?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Hugs and accountability
So I'm two weeks into working within an actual budget. So far, it's worked out pretty well. It's not perfect, but it's a framework. Everybody's gotta start somewhere, right?
My friend Diane and I have agreed to look over each other's finances each month, to keep each other accountable and true to our goals. Our financial pictures are vastly different - Diane is a married mother of three (four if you count Justin). Diane and Justin own their home and manage all the financial responsibilities of being parents and homeowners. I'm a single renter managing to stay afloat. And yet, our goals are remarkably similar: build savings, create opportunities to travel, and cut unnecessary spending.
It can be a little scary to lay all the cards on the table, but Di and I have zero judgement of each other. We've given each other assignments and will reconvene in about a month to see how we're doing. I've begun to realize that this is pretty powerful stuff. It's been so long since I've even allowed myself to think of how I can make money work for me, I hadn't even considered that I could set goals and eventually achieve them. Sounds foolish, but there you have it.
I have to be honest, though. The best part of my day at Chez Rand was not working through the finances. It was either squishing Koen, the newest member of Clan Rand, or the Thin Mint blizzard Meat brought for dessert. Actually, the man went out for a Blizzard buffet - a Thin Mint for me and another for Di, plus a French Silk (holy crap it's good) and Tagalong for himself and for the rest of us to sneak bites of when he wasn't looking. But that baby! He let me hold him and squish him and chew on him all day. It's hard to take yourself too seriously, or get depressed about finances, when there's an endless supply of baby giggles.
So it was quite a day, both tough and refreshing. I feel strong, capable and loved. And I have an intense craving for another blizzard.
My friend Diane and I have agreed to look over each other's finances each month, to keep each other accountable and true to our goals. Our financial pictures are vastly different - Diane is a married mother of three (four if you count Justin). Diane and Justin own their home and manage all the financial responsibilities of being parents and homeowners. I'm a single renter managing to stay afloat. And yet, our goals are remarkably similar: build savings, create opportunities to travel, and cut unnecessary spending.
It can be a little scary to lay all the cards on the table, but Di and I have zero judgement of each other. We've given each other assignments and will reconvene in about a month to see how we're doing. I've begun to realize that this is pretty powerful stuff. It's been so long since I've even allowed myself to think of how I can make money work for me, I hadn't even considered that I could set goals and eventually achieve them. Sounds foolish, but there you have it.
I have to be honest, though. The best part of my day at Chez Rand was not working through the finances. It was either squishing Koen, the newest member of Clan Rand, or the Thin Mint blizzard Meat brought for dessert. Actually, the man went out for a Blizzard buffet - a Thin Mint for me and another for Di, plus a French Silk (holy crap it's good) and Tagalong for himself and for the rest of us to sneak bites of when he wasn't looking. But that baby! He let me hold him and squish him and chew on him all day. It's hard to take yourself too seriously, or get depressed about finances, when there's an endless supply of baby giggles.
So it was quite a day, both tough and refreshing. I feel strong, capable and loved. And I have an intense craving for another blizzard.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Red freakin' flags
The past week has been full of introspection. And yes, it's the same old song - how could I marry such a dolt? He's moved on to Wife #3 (yes, that's three, for those of you playing the at-home version of our game) and will likely repeat the same pattern of love and destruction with this one. The man is a creature of habit the likes of which I've never seen.
So what's a girl to do when faced with the removal of that final veil? Look back in gratitude, and wonder how she missed so many obvious red flags. Let's take a look.
Oral hygiene. He doesn't brush his teeth. Ever. Doesn't own a toothbrush, or at least he didn't. Made his gums bleed, he said. See the dentist, I said. It hurts, he said. After awhile, you get tired of trying. And, frankly, of kissing the bodily equivalent of a garbage disposal.
Roughing it. He didn't like camping. I love camping. I do it in a luxurious way - I have to have my pillow, and my air mattress, and showers and real toilets and an iHop within a drivable distance, but I love camping. I love listening to nature as I fall asleep. I love the sound of rain against the tent. I love the way the air smells. I simply love it. His idea of roughing it was a hotel without room service. Definitely not a good combination.
'til death. He never had anything nice to say about his first wife. Now I understand that he's not gonna be her biggest fan. Nor will he be mine, for sure. But he married her, for heaven's sake. There has to be some redeeming quality, some reason for making that commitment. I guess not, for him.
A girl's best friend. He didn't care that I didn't want a diamond. I hate diamonds. They're not rare. They do nothing but line the pockets of the DeBeers family. But he insisted, telling me his first wife never let him forget that he never gave her one. (She didn't, btw.) And what's worse, he insisted I have one, but he was more than willing to let me pay for it. What a charmer. (I wanted a sapphire. I will eventually buy one for myself.)
Pickiest eater ever. Okay, he was lactose intolerant. But he also didn't eat beef or pork. Do you realize how difficult it is to find food that has none of the above in it? How do you make dumplings without milk? Mac & Cheese? Turkey burgers only go so far, and don't even get me started on how lacking in flavor pulled chicken barbecue is. (Epilogue: Near "the end", he went to White Castle with Rice and I, and ate one of my sliders. I should've stabbed him in the eye with my plastic fork. And I hope he had the shits for a week.)
The Late Chris Rathunde. He couldn't ever get his act together to be out the door at a reasonable time. It's simple, really: figure out what time you have to be somewhere, how long it takes you to get there, and back it up by that amount of time. That's when you have to leave the house, unless you happen to run on CMR time. Oy. I run late sometimes, but it's not a habit. I respect my friends and family too much to keep them waiting.
Mouth breather. He can't breathe through his nose, and won't have a doctor look at it. Which means he breathes loudly, through his mouth, all the time. Sometimes he clicked, like an 8-track tape switching tracks. It kept me up at night until I started wearing earplugs. That offended him; I couldn't win.
It was just jewelry. I love my wedding ring. Yes, I said that in the present tense; it is a thing of beauty. Engraved on it in Hebrew is the verse from Song of Solomon: "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." It is a beautiful symbol of a love I thought would last a lifetime. However, to me, it is still only a piece of jewelry. There were times I would take it off and forget to put it back on. I never felt any less married when I didn't have it on. I get where he was coming from, but I can't be convinced that this was a punishable offense. It's one of the first things he complained about to the latest Mrs. Chris Rathunde, in the 300 pages of instant messages I procured from his computer when he wasn't looking. And let's face it, at least I didn't destroy mine by slamming in in the door. Twice. Mine is at least still round.
I should've left him there. I bailed him out of jail. Twice. Once, in fact, I had to call a friend's mother to borrow the money because I didn't have access to enough cash to spring him. Traffic violations had piled up because he was living in Arkansas (hell, that should've been a red flag, too) and it wasn't like the Illinois cops were gonna come find him. So yeah, I bailed his sorry ass out and got the car out of impound twice before that SOB cleaned up his record. Not to mention the fact that I bought the damn car to begin with because he moved into my apartment with nothing but bad taste and wrinkled clothes. Shit, now I'm pissed at myself.
16 candles. Only once in the eight years we were together did he make my birthday special. And that includes the fact that we got married on my birthday. He rarely even got me a card. My first birthday with him, though, he was creative and sweet. There were cards everywhere. In my lunch bag; in my briefcase; in the bathroom; on the coffee maker; in my car at the end of my workday. It was a simple gesture, and it made me feel like a million bucks. I was hooked. I was also a dumbass.
Temper, temper. He didn't lose his temper a lot, but it was enough. He once barked at his mother, because evidently she asked for one too many favors. Well pardon me, I guess I'll move her furniture myself, then. And then there was the time when he grabbed my nephew by the collar and told him to stop complaining. "Knock it off," I believe, were his exact words. Alex looked petrified. The jackass messed with one of my chickens, and I never looked at him the same way again.
All that being said, there were good things about him. Probably still are. Up until now, at least, he had great taste in women. (Except for the young redhead at the Roosevelt U bookstore I'm pretty sure he banged. That's another pattern - boinking the help.) He made great bread. He never once questioned my intensely close relationships with other men. He laughed at my jokes and wasn't afraid to be silly. He made an effort to enjoy spending time with my friends. He was sometimes incredibly sweet. His first gift to me, the weekend we met, was a beautiful copy of Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet." Right away, he knew how to wow me. Over time, he forgot. I can remember praying that his heart would one day turn back to me.
But that's not what happened, and that's probably a good thing. As my friend Chris Early told me during a recent visit, "Some people belong together. You guys just ... didn't." I think it was hard for him to say, but no less true. We just didn't. And if I'd paid any attention along the way, I would have figured that out long before his old friend from high school popped back into his life, walking away with his heart.
For the record, she can have it.
So what's a girl to do when faced with the removal of that final veil? Look back in gratitude, and wonder how she missed so many obvious red flags. Let's take a look.
Oral hygiene. He doesn't brush his teeth. Ever. Doesn't own a toothbrush, or at least he didn't. Made his gums bleed, he said. See the dentist, I said. It hurts, he said. After awhile, you get tired of trying. And, frankly, of kissing the bodily equivalent of a garbage disposal.
Roughing it. He didn't like camping. I love camping. I do it in a luxurious way - I have to have my pillow, and my air mattress, and showers and real toilets and an iHop within a drivable distance, but I love camping. I love listening to nature as I fall asleep. I love the sound of rain against the tent. I love the way the air smells. I simply love it. His idea of roughing it was a hotel without room service. Definitely not a good combination.
'til death. He never had anything nice to say about his first wife. Now I understand that he's not gonna be her biggest fan. Nor will he be mine, for sure. But he married her, for heaven's sake. There has to be some redeeming quality, some reason for making that commitment. I guess not, for him.
A girl's best friend. He didn't care that I didn't want a diamond. I hate diamonds. They're not rare. They do nothing but line the pockets of the DeBeers family. But he insisted, telling me his first wife never let him forget that he never gave her one. (She didn't, btw.) And what's worse, he insisted I have one, but he was more than willing to let me pay for it. What a charmer. (I wanted a sapphire. I will eventually buy one for myself.)
Pickiest eater ever. Okay, he was lactose intolerant. But he also didn't eat beef or pork. Do you realize how difficult it is to find food that has none of the above in it? How do you make dumplings without milk? Mac & Cheese? Turkey burgers only go so far, and don't even get me started on how lacking in flavor pulled chicken barbecue is. (Epilogue: Near "the end", he went to White Castle with Rice and I, and ate one of my sliders. I should've stabbed him in the eye with my plastic fork. And I hope he had the shits for a week.)
The Late Chris Rathunde. He couldn't ever get his act together to be out the door at a reasonable time. It's simple, really: figure out what time you have to be somewhere, how long it takes you to get there, and back it up by that amount of time. That's when you have to leave the house, unless you happen to run on CMR time. Oy. I run late sometimes, but it's not a habit. I respect my friends and family too much to keep them waiting.
Mouth breather. He can't breathe through his nose, and won't have a doctor look at it. Which means he breathes loudly, through his mouth, all the time. Sometimes he clicked, like an 8-track tape switching tracks. It kept me up at night until I started wearing earplugs. That offended him; I couldn't win.
It was just jewelry. I love my wedding ring. Yes, I said that in the present tense; it is a thing of beauty. Engraved on it in Hebrew is the verse from Song of Solomon: "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." It is a beautiful symbol of a love I thought would last a lifetime. However, to me, it is still only a piece of jewelry. There were times I would take it off and forget to put it back on. I never felt any less married when I didn't have it on. I get where he was coming from, but I can't be convinced that this was a punishable offense. It's one of the first things he complained about to the latest Mrs. Chris Rathunde, in the 300 pages of instant messages I procured from his computer when he wasn't looking. And let's face it, at least I didn't destroy mine by slamming in in the door. Twice. Mine is at least still round.
I should've left him there. I bailed him out of jail. Twice. Once, in fact, I had to call a friend's mother to borrow the money because I didn't have access to enough cash to spring him. Traffic violations had piled up because he was living in Arkansas (hell, that should've been a red flag, too) and it wasn't like the Illinois cops were gonna come find him. So yeah, I bailed his sorry ass out and got the car out of impound twice before that SOB cleaned up his record. Not to mention the fact that I bought the damn car to begin with because he moved into my apartment with nothing but bad taste and wrinkled clothes. Shit, now I'm pissed at myself.
16 candles. Only once in the eight years we were together did he make my birthday special. And that includes the fact that we got married on my birthday. He rarely even got me a card. My first birthday with him, though, he was creative and sweet. There were cards everywhere. In my lunch bag; in my briefcase; in the bathroom; on the coffee maker; in my car at the end of my workday. It was a simple gesture, and it made me feel like a million bucks. I was hooked. I was also a dumbass.
Temper, temper. He didn't lose his temper a lot, but it was enough. He once barked at his mother, because evidently she asked for one too many favors. Well pardon me, I guess I'll move her furniture myself, then. And then there was the time when he grabbed my nephew by the collar and told him to stop complaining. "Knock it off," I believe, were his exact words. Alex looked petrified. The jackass messed with one of my chickens, and I never looked at him the same way again.
All that being said, there were good things about him. Probably still are. Up until now, at least, he had great taste in women. (Except for the young redhead at the Roosevelt U bookstore I'm pretty sure he banged. That's another pattern - boinking the help.) He made great bread. He never once questioned my intensely close relationships with other men. He laughed at my jokes and wasn't afraid to be silly. He made an effort to enjoy spending time with my friends. He was sometimes incredibly sweet. His first gift to me, the weekend we met, was a beautiful copy of Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet." Right away, he knew how to wow me. Over time, he forgot. I can remember praying that his heart would one day turn back to me.
But that's not what happened, and that's probably a good thing. As my friend Chris Early told me during a recent visit, "Some people belong together. You guys just ... didn't." I think it was hard for him to say, but no less true. We just didn't. And if I'd paid any attention along the way, I would have figured that out long before his old friend from high school popped back into his life, walking away with his heart.
For the record, she can have it.
Monday, August 10, 2009
News from Updateland
My, how time flies. As of last Thursday, August 6, I've been divorced for one year. That also, coincidentally, seems to be the date my ex chose to marry his latest wife. The man has a whole lot of class. Unfortunately, it's all low.
I knew it was coming. I've asked those who know him well if he was planning wedding three, and nothing pointed to it, but it is his pattern, so it had to be in the works. Turns out, it was pretty much a secret from everyone. Most of his near and dear found out because his status on Facebook changed from "in a relationship" to "married," and his paramour's name changed from Cindy Deering to Cindy Deering-Rathunde. (Never fear; she will always be Judy the Ho to me.)
I thought I'd be more emotional when I heard the news, but what I felt was a sweet sense of relief. He is now well and truly gone from my life. He's someone else's problem now. And hopefully he's found the person who can bring him true happiness, someone who will never change from this moment on, because heaven forbid that life change a person. I'm reminded of the lyrics from Nickel Creek's song "Somebody More Like You," which seems to be what he's been looking for all along - someone more like him. My favorite passage goes like this:
I hope you meet someone your height
so you can see eye to eye
with someone as small as you
That's my wish for the man I once loved. Really ... I wish him all the happiness he deserves.
The care and feeding of the North American Maggie. Nail down the delicious food, folks, because if it's within my reach, I'm eating it. Swear to heaven, over the last three weeks I've been eating all the food that made me sick before I had the gallbladder out. If it comes dredged in butter, or in a cream sauce, or smothered in cheese or all three, I would like it, please. If it tastes good with hot fudge and whipped cream, I'll take a double scoop. So it's a damn good thing I'm back at the gym!
Hard to believe how quickly the body loses it's memory. After two weeks away, returning for the simplest cardio HURT! But it's not painful, really. It's just my body talking to me, telling me it's good to be moving again. And really, it is so good to have myself back. Now I need to lose the four pounds I've gained and get back on track!
Budgetary constraints. There's a certain amount of freedom that comes from knowing what's coming in, what's going out, and what I'm doing with what's left. I don't have an abundance of money, but I have enough. I will be able to meet my needs, and even some of my wants. I won't be buying any new fun stuff for awhile - I'll be knitting from my overflowing stash of yarn (but only after I finally finish Izzy's sweater!) and scrapbooking from my bottomless supply closet and mending or taking in the clothes that are already hanging in my closet.
I've pretty much resigned myself to a tough year, financially speaking. Just 12 months of very strict monitoring. 12 months to build good habits and become confident in my ability to manage my money. 12 months to begin anew. I'll keep you posted on my progress, in case you're interested or curious, and I look forward to seeing my financial health improve, much like my physical health has over the past two years.
That's about it from Maggie's World. Nothing else new or exciting, just the day-to-day ramblings of a girl who learns a little more every day, struggles sometimes and values her friends and family above all else. Except maybe a giant slab of cheesecake ...
I knew it was coming. I've asked those who know him well if he was planning wedding three, and nothing pointed to it, but it is his pattern, so it had to be in the works. Turns out, it was pretty much a secret from everyone. Most of his near and dear found out because his status on Facebook changed from "in a relationship" to "married," and his paramour's name changed from Cindy Deering to Cindy Deering-Rathunde. (Never fear; she will always be Judy the Ho to me.)
I thought I'd be more emotional when I heard the news, but what I felt was a sweet sense of relief. He is now well and truly gone from my life. He's someone else's problem now. And hopefully he's found the person who can bring him true happiness, someone who will never change from this moment on, because heaven forbid that life change a person. I'm reminded of the lyrics from Nickel Creek's song "Somebody More Like You," which seems to be what he's been looking for all along - someone more like him. My favorite passage goes like this:
I hope you meet someone your height
so you can see eye to eye
with someone as small as you
That's my wish for the man I once loved. Really ... I wish him all the happiness he deserves.
The care and feeding of the North American Maggie. Nail down the delicious food, folks, because if it's within my reach, I'm eating it. Swear to heaven, over the last three weeks I've been eating all the food that made me sick before I had the gallbladder out. If it comes dredged in butter, or in a cream sauce, or smothered in cheese or all three, I would like it, please. If it tastes good with hot fudge and whipped cream, I'll take a double scoop. So it's a damn good thing I'm back at the gym!
Hard to believe how quickly the body loses it's memory. After two weeks away, returning for the simplest cardio HURT! But it's not painful, really. It's just my body talking to me, telling me it's good to be moving again. And really, it is so good to have myself back. Now I need to lose the four pounds I've gained and get back on track!
Budgetary constraints. There's a certain amount of freedom that comes from knowing what's coming in, what's going out, and what I'm doing with what's left. I don't have an abundance of money, but I have enough. I will be able to meet my needs, and even some of my wants. I won't be buying any new fun stuff for awhile - I'll be knitting from my overflowing stash of yarn (but only after I finally finish Izzy's sweater!) and scrapbooking from my bottomless supply closet and mending or taking in the clothes that are already hanging in my closet.
I've pretty much resigned myself to a tough year, financially speaking. Just 12 months of very strict monitoring. 12 months to build good habits and become confident in my ability to manage my money. 12 months to begin anew. I'll keep you posted on my progress, in case you're interested or curious, and I look forward to seeing my financial health improve, much like my physical health has over the past two years.
That's about it from Maggie's World. Nothing else new or exciting, just the day-to-day ramblings of a girl who learns a little more every day, struggles sometimes and values her friends and family above all else. Except maybe a giant slab of cheesecake ...
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The heavy stuff
Life generally doesn't turn out according to plan. Sometimes it turns out better, sometimes worse, but it rarely turns out exactly the way we pictured it. It's easy when it turns out better. When loaning someone my car turns into a lifelong friendship, a week at the lake creates a family, gallbladder surgery allows for (occasional) decadent indulgence, vacations become lifetime memories and that unmarked packet of seeds turns out the most delicious tomatoes ever. The unexpected can be awesome.
It can also feel devastating. It can feel like more than you can handle. And after a few months of that, I think it's important to let you in on my big stupid secret.
The emotional fallout of my divorce was horrible. But once I healed (mostly) from that, the financial mess was even worse. After careful counsel with people I respect and admire, and after weighing all my options, I've filed for bankruptcy. I feel a little bit like General Motors, and probably just as hopeful.
I'm not proud of it. I've spent a large portion of the last few months ashamed. I have always believed that we should take responsibility for our actions, and paying our debts is part of that. I still believe that ... but there is just too much there and too little coming in to bridge the gap. I tried. I failed. And at this point, I can either chip away at the mountain well into my 80s, or I can bite the bullet, accept the consequences, and begin with a new, albeit tarnished, slate.
My fatal financial error came in trying to be a good ex-wife. I recognize that my ex can't hold all the blame, but when we parted ways, there were things I didn't consider - that I'd be essentially out of work for more than a year, and that when I found a job I would be earning considerably less than I once did. And so, in an effort to finally get something right in my relationship with this man, I accepted the lion's share of our debt. Huge mistake. One I never should have made, and one he never should have allowed me to. But what's done is done and I can't go back.
So this is the way I've chosen to move forward. I hope you can still respect me; I know it's taken me awhile to earn back my own self respect. This is not a decision I've taken lightly. I struggled, considered all my options, and chose the path that was the right move for me.
All that being said, my budget will remain tight, at least for a little while. I have to plan for life's indulgences. I'm working from a budget that has very little wiggle room, but is doable. I hope to replace my car (with something a little newer with fewer miles, but similar to what I currently drive) before the end of the year and am beginning to save for that. I'm a little frightened, because it's "do or die" time. I can't afford to screw this up, which is part of why I'm choosing to share this with all of y'all. The time to be secretive is in the past. This is where I'm at, and I have to acknowledge and accept it before I can move past it.
So anyway, that's the heavy news from my world. If you're reading this, there have likely been several times I've wanted to tell you, but it's just not the sort of thing that comes up in polite conversation. Pass the potatoes and oh, by the way, when I say I have no money, I mean I actually have less than no money. Oy.
It's a new start for me. I pulled my head out of the sand in March and began to face the music, and here I am. Whether you know it or not, your generosity of spirit and your faith in me has helped me to smile in those moments when the numbers say I'm worth more dead than alive. It's going to be tough, but I've done tough before.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for being there. Thanks for believing in me. I hope this doesn't cause you to think less of me, but I'm not going to hide the truth from people I care about. Well, anymore.
Ever forward ... tomorrow's a new day.
It can also feel devastating. It can feel like more than you can handle. And after a few months of that, I think it's important to let you in on my big stupid secret.
The emotional fallout of my divorce was horrible. But once I healed (mostly) from that, the financial mess was even worse. After careful counsel with people I respect and admire, and after weighing all my options, I've filed for bankruptcy. I feel a little bit like General Motors, and probably just as hopeful.
I'm not proud of it. I've spent a large portion of the last few months ashamed. I have always believed that we should take responsibility for our actions, and paying our debts is part of that. I still believe that ... but there is just too much there and too little coming in to bridge the gap. I tried. I failed. And at this point, I can either chip away at the mountain well into my 80s, or I can bite the bullet, accept the consequences, and begin with a new, albeit tarnished, slate.
My fatal financial error came in trying to be a good ex-wife. I recognize that my ex can't hold all the blame, but when we parted ways, there were things I didn't consider - that I'd be essentially out of work for more than a year, and that when I found a job I would be earning considerably less than I once did. And so, in an effort to finally get something right in my relationship with this man, I accepted the lion's share of our debt. Huge mistake. One I never should have made, and one he never should have allowed me to. But what's done is done and I can't go back.
So this is the way I've chosen to move forward. I hope you can still respect me; I know it's taken me awhile to earn back my own self respect. This is not a decision I've taken lightly. I struggled, considered all my options, and chose the path that was the right move for me.
All that being said, my budget will remain tight, at least for a little while. I have to plan for life's indulgences. I'm working from a budget that has very little wiggle room, but is doable. I hope to replace my car (with something a little newer with fewer miles, but similar to what I currently drive) before the end of the year and am beginning to save for that. I'm a little frightened, because it's "do or die" time. I can't afford to screw this up, which is part of why I'm choosing to share this with all of y'all. The time to be secretive is in the past. This is where I'm at, and I have to acknowledge and accept it before I can move past it.
So anyway, that's the heavy news from my world. If you're reading this, there have likely been several times I've wanted to tell you, but it's just not the sort of thing that comes up in polite conversation. Pass the potatoes and oh, by the way, when I say I have no money, I mean I actually have less than no money. Oy.
It's a new start for me. I pulled my head out of the sand in March and began to face the music, and here I am. Whether you know it or not, your generosity of spirit and your faith in me has helped me to smile in those moments when the numbers say I'm worth more dead than alive. It's going to be tough, but I've done tough before.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for being there. Thanks for believing in me. I hope this doesn't cause you to think less of me, but I'm not going to hide the truth from people I care about. Well, anymore.
Ever forward ... tomorrow's a new day.
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