The Way Things Are

“Fuck.”

One single, solitary profanity to encompass so many thoughts, feelings, and emotions. The modern version of “supercalifragalisticxpealidocious” to be said when no other words will do. The one word that came to my mind when banker #2 who is working on my loan said I’ll need around $3,000 when I close on my house in two days since banker #1 said I’d need about $250.

Fuck.

I admit it, I suck with money. I work my ass off to earn it, and just like a new parent bringing home a baby I have no clue what to do with it except to have fun.

Growing up, my family never really had much money. I used to do chores to get a $3 a week allowance, but many times was just an eight-year-old running a collection agency trying to get money that my parents couldn’t pay me. When I got older and my dad started his own business, I went to work with him and was constantly wondering when I’d get paid.

For some reason I could never be satisfied with the things in life that money can’t buy. It wasn’t enough that I had decent parents who loved me and my siblings and tried their best to give us the best upbringing that they could. It wasn’t enough that I was good in school or that I had lots of kids in my neighborhood to play with. I wanted more.

There were a few times that I selfishly announced my hatred of being poor to the same parents who were doing everything they could to try and make me happy. I didn’t care how bad it tore into the hearts of the two who cared about me more than anyone else did. I wanted more.

My parents tried, on occasion, to teach me about money. When I got my first real job the day after I turned 16, they tried to teach me how to be responsible and not get into financial trouble. Yet I didn’t hear anything they said because I had cash in my hand and I had to make up for lost time by getting enough things to make up for the lack of things I had as a kid.

Even at 26 years old, I’m still just a kid in a bigger body. I’ve always been stupidly proud that “I always pay my bills” and used it as an excuse to get more bills. Why save for it when you can get it on credit and pay for it as you use it?

Now here I am sitting in a hole, looking up and trying to see light. I can’t really feel sorry for myself since I did this to myself and kind of had fun on the way down. Still…by the time I close on my house (which I’d better not get any more surprises) I’ll owe around $13,800 to different places, not including the house.

Yeah, I’m a dumbass. One big fucking all-American dumbass. This IS the American way, isn’t it? Get into debt. We’re the land of “We finance anybody”s. Everyone and their mom and their grandma and long-lost Uncle Jed wants to loan money to people who pay their bills. It’s like selling Hershey bars at a women’s PMS convention; you’re bound make a killing.

I think the hardest thing for me to swallow is what it’ll take for me to get OUT of debt. The only people on earth I care about (that aren’t related to me) live 350 miles away and not being able to see them often is going to hurt more than anything. If I hadn’t quit and if it wasn’t so damn spendy, this whole thing might send me drinking again.

Hopefully in a couple years this will all be behind me. Hopefully this will be a sting I’ll never forget, and I won’t be such a retard. Perhaps I’ll learn that there are some things, like the world’s best friends, that are worth being able to be with as often as possible and not having to stay home because of lack of funds.

For now though, I’m treading water. Somehow I’m keeping my head in the open even with the giant weight I tied to my ankle pulling me down.

I’m the product of genetics.
I’m the product of circumstance.
I’m the product of myself.
I’m the product of society.
I’m the product of the way things are.

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“Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
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Imagine all the people
Living for today”
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John Lennon