It has always worked out. Basic needs have been met, unrealistic whims realized, and my general fancy satisfied when it comes down to the Almighty Dollar and what it could do for me. That's not to say it's always been easy, and far from it to aver that I let it leave my wallet without a thought. Being stuck on the sidelines for want of the means to participate is, if not a familiar and recurring scenario, at least not altogether foreign.
Structured chaos is the appropriate terminology to describe my financial planning and budgetary outlook. Once I have my cross-hairs set on some long-term target, I do the deeds and sacrifice the lambs necessary to make it happen. But these aren't houses and tuition and retirement accounts; I could very well die long before any of those come to fruition. Instead, these by-and-large involve some geographic destination in the not-too distant future where I wish to pass through or find myself relocating for some variable amount of time. I always make it and it ain't always pretty. If anything, the appropriate designation is Barely Just. I do not know of a single achieved instance where I looked back and understood it would have been prudent to work for one more month or save just one thousand dollars more.
The post-college move to Chicago worked out by a thin margin. More specifically: $12. That was the extent of my liquid assets after rent and repaying my friend's parents for the security deposit from the month before. It made for a harrowing sight on the bank receipt and would have been far worse if I didn't have that plum job at a shitty chain restaurant to help blacken the balance sheet in the months to come.
Not more than a year later was the mad quest to pocket six grand to pay for an upcoming year in Southern Africa. Had to move home for that one. There was the empty tennis ball canister on the bedroom window ledge to collect earnings from that same shitty chain restaurant (they had a transfer policy.) I cut out paying for drinks, dining out, ski trips, and basically anything that did not directly go to into the gas tank or pay for parking. I had to send a certified check by December 1 and secured the necessary funds the night before. The ensuing month of work was sufficient to pay for the frivolous travel during that year.
In hindsight, I would have moved to New York City with more than three grand.
I would have returned to New York City post-graduation travel with more than four grand or at least one solid job prospect.
I would have secured an additional part time job during the great Novel Writing Odyssey a bit before my bank account sank to three digits.
And I would done any one of a number of things to prevent exactly where I find myself now.
February looks like it will be all right. I paid rent and have that all important security deposit taken care of. My two internet jobs [c'mon everybody, say it with me now: My Two Internet Jobs] will keep accounts current and while I'm not exactly proud to be returning to food service, it should keep me away from the ATMs. I have a pretty good disposition w/r/t gift horses and mouth inspecting.
Ah, but right now. Right now. Well, this is a close one. I have justenough between maxing out the credit card and my depleted savings to pay for the Gray Lady's repairs, plus the Greyhound fare to get me to where she now rests. The $25 gift card from dear Aunt Liz will buy one tank of gas, my remaining funds a couple more, and then I'm just banking on the hope that my dear passenger will be able to spring for a couple herself.
It ain't pretty and it sure ain't scripted. I sit now beside Gate D7 and hope this is the final, happy, hair-of-my-chinny chin chin escape from the fierce jowls of destitution. All told I'm optimistic. I simply can't afford to be otherwise.
Structured chaos is the appropriate terminology to describe my financial planning and budgetary outlook. Once I have my cross-hairs set on some long-term target, I do the deeds and sacrifice the lambs necessary to make it happen. But these aren't houses and tuition and retirement accounts; I could very well die long before any of those come to fruition. Instead, these by-and-large involve some geographic destination in the not-too distant future where I wish to pass through or find myself relocating for some variable amount of time. I always make it and it ain't always pretty. If anything, the appropriate designation is Barely Just. I do not know of a single achieved instance where I looked back and understood it would have been prudent to work for one more month or save just one thousand dollars more.
The post-college move to Chicago worked out by a thin margin. More specifically: $12. That was the extent of my liquid assets after rent and repaying my friend's parents for the security deposit from the month before. It made for a harrowing sight on the bank receipt and would have been far worse if I didn't have that plum job at a shitty chain restaurant to help blacken the balance sheet in the months to come.
Not more than a year later was the mad quest to pocket six grand to pay for an upcoming year in Southern Africa. Had to move home for that one. There was the empty tennis ball canister on the bedroom window ledge to collect earnings from that same shitty chain restaurant (they had a transfer policy.) I cut out paying for drinks, dining out, ski trips, and basically anything that did not directly go to into the gas tank or pay for parking. I had to send a certified check by December 1 and secured the necessary funds the night before. The ensuing month of work was sufficient to pay for the frivolous travel during that year.
In hindsight, I would have moved to New York City with more than three grand.
I would have returned to New York City post-graduation travel with more than four grand or at least one solid job prospect.
I would have secured an additional part time job during the great Novel Writing Odyssey a bit before my bank account sank to three digits.
And I would done any one of a number of things to prevent exactly where I find myself now.
February looks like it will be all right. I paid rent and have that all important security deposit taken care of. My two internet jobs [c'mon everybody, say it with me now: My Two Internet Jobs] will keep accounts current and while I'm not exactly proud to be returning to food service, it should keep me away from the ATMs. I have a pretty good disposition w/r/t gift horses and mouth inspecting.
Ah, but right now. Right now. Well, this is a close one. I have justenough between maxing out the credit card and my depleted savings to pay for the Gray Lady's repairs, plus the Greyhound fare to get me to where she now rests. The $25 gift card from dear Aunt Liz will buy one tank of gas, my remaining funds a couple more, and then I'm just banking on the hope that my dear passenger will be able to spring for a couple herself.
It ain't pretty and it sure ain't scripted. I sit now beside Gate D7 and hope this is the final, happy, hair-of-my-chinny chin chin escape from the fierce jowls of destitution. All told I'm optimistic. I simply can't afford to be otherwise.
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