KFC Witness Protection Program, seen on FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a blogger, I never craft an entry carefully and then post it. I sometimes start with something I want to say, and let myself go, and see where it ends up. Other times, like this morning, I don’t even have anything to say. Except hello. I am still here.

In the basement there is banging and crashing as they do whatever it is they do to finalize the working elements of the new septic system. I sit here in my fluffy white housecoat, bare feet tucked under me in hopes my toes will warm up. On the radio a man is saying that in spite of the violence of the last decade, the planet’s civilization is a lot less violent than it ever was throughout history. I think. I’m only half listening.

In other good news, one of the things they’re doing down there is fixing things so a washer and dryer can go in. Finally, my weekly trips to the laundromat will end. Our clothing may turn yellow or brown, due to the high iron and sulphur content in our water, but … we’ll see.

I have been turning over ideas of ways I could help pay for things around here, aside from borrowing money. Fella feels taken advantage of because he’s the one who has made all the big expenditures, and is so stressed and resentful. There’s a tendency to hope that a sudden influx of money would annihilate those resentments, though I wonder; it seems to me that he is the kind of person who would soon find some other reason to be angry.

I did ask him how much I would have to contribute in order for him to feel I was pulling my weight. He didn’t give me an answer; still hasn’t, though I have asked more than once. The other night he offered to get a mortgage and pay me out (I paid for half this place when we bought it, so I have equity); he would rather do that than bring over the Ikea bookshelves (one item on the honey-do list), apparently. Sad, isn’t it? I told him to go ahead, if that’s the only thing he’s willing to do to help solve our problems. Then it got dropped. I think it’s his way of initiating conversation. I must say I felt better the morning after, because at least we were talking, much as it never seems to get us anywhere.

I don’t want to borrow money, so I’m sorting through possible financial solutions. Get another job? I could drive into town five days a week and work in my accountant’s office from January to June, and earn about $10/hr less than I do with my editing work, which I don’t want to give up. I’d have to put in my existing 18 hours a week in the evenings and on the weekends. I’d be exhausted and miserable for six months, but I suppose Fella would be happy because it would relieve him from some financial pressure. I can’t stomach the idea of giving up half a year of my life for money; that’s what stops me cold. That, and the thought of rushing out of my house in the mornings to drive to town on icy, snowy roads on frigid winter mornings. I’d rather go up north and spend a couple weeks at a time cooking in some kind of camp, making better money. Much as I love being at home and don’t want to be away, at least something like that would be worth my while; I’d come out with a nice chunk of cash.

I thought about leaving things as they are and making monthly payments to Fella until my investment catches up with his. A few hundred bucks a month — something, anything — might satisfy him, even if it took years to add up to what he has spent here. So I broke my monthly income and expenses down on paper to see what I can afford, and was unpleasantly surprised to find that I don’t have even $100 a month that isn’t already spoken for. Oh oh. I do need to earn more, or spend less, though I already spend next to nothing on frivolities.

Lots of ideas swirling about in my head. Even having my vehicle is an expense I can’t really afford, if I’m honest. Yet how do I risk doing without it, when I live with a man who doesn’t want me to drive his “family” wheels? He’s got two trucks, one for work and one for “good,” and I’ve told him I will drive whatever is available whenever I please. I’m not living with a man for 10 years and being refused access to his second vehicle, no matter what he says: that he paid for it, so it’s his. Yes sir, if we split up, you take that truck. But as long as I’m living with you, you’re sharing, buddy.

After that enforced month “off” this summer, I didn’t have money to purchase vehicle insurance, so I was prepared to just let my van sit. Actually I thought I’d sell it and get a couple thousand dollars to put towards renos and repairs around here. It’s not like I’m on the road more than twice a week anyway, and even then I am bringing home groceries or doing other errands for our household, so what’s the big deal? Anyway Fella went and paid for the insurance, so that I wouldn’t be driving his newer truck. Last week I had a flat tire, and my van sat unused in the yard till the day I needed to go pick #1 Son up in town. Fella went out and changed the tire that morning so I wouldn’t drive “his” truck. It is weird to be with someone, especially for this long, who is so selfish and possessive about what is “his.”

Maybe it’s easier for me to share what I have, to consider it available to both of us, because I have less? I have less money, a lower income, so it’s to my advantage to share with someone who has more to share? Am I being totally self-serving here? I believe Fella thinks so.

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