December 02, 2003
December 02, 2003 - 4:03 p.m.
There's normal stress. Then there's today. I'm stretched tighter than Michael Jackson's face. And all of it is because of money.
The best way I've found out of this debt-based quagmire is to refinance the house, folding in my home equity line of credit plus my credit card debt. Yes, this means I'll be paying off credit balances for the next zillion years. But the only other way is to declare bankruptcy and lose my house. Now do you see why I've been up nights worrying?
My current offer would lower all my payments from $1200/month to $650. I'd be able to start putting away some money, though there'd never be a lot. I'd have to keep the mortgage a minimum of three more years. I could start saving money each month and putting more into the 403(b). It sounds so good.
It's all contingent on the house appraising at a minimum of $120,000. For California that's pennies. The place came in at $97,500 almost ten years ago. But I'm still terrified. I have horrible carpet. Paint that's wacky, to say the least. (Have I mentioned the racing stripes? The bordello bathroom?) Daddy assures me that I should still be fine. But to give myself the best possible shot, I'm going on a wild tear through Sunday night. Walls will be painted. Goodwill's about to get the contents of one entire room. Miles of overgrown star jasmine are going away. It's gonna get ugly, but then it's gonna get clean.
To keep myself from going insane today at work, I've made a 2-page single-spaced list of jobs that must be accomplished before Sunday night. I was supposed to have dinner with friends tomorrow night. Nope. Scratcher's still coming over tonight, but he's helping. Tasks for him have little asterisks on the list.*
And as the kicker, there's a job advertised today that would be fucking perfect for me. It's like I was born to do it. But it's only 75% time. At a salary roughly comparable to what I make now. In other words, I'd have more time and less money - doing something I'd love.
Did I spit on the Dalai Lama or something? Why do I suck with money so incredibly badly? Am I really that materialistic? Ack!
Please, somebody, mail me a gallon-sized jug of cocktails!
*One of these days, after all the stress calms down, I'm going to completely WIG OUT that he helped me. Nobody helps me. I once called Nom de Plume for advice on how to use the quick-release on my bike tire. It was a HUGE deal. See my point?
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