I don’t particularly WANT to freak out and spit venom all over the house like an enraged Dilophosaurus taking down Dennis Nedry with a canister full of stolen dinosaur embryos, but I may not be able to stem the tide much longer. The very act of being nonchalant about my impending doom is an exercise in forced hilarity, and I’m starting to come apart at the seams. No one wants to see my messy insides – it’s fun inside my head but kind of a mess in here – so it would be BEYOND HELPFUL if things would change. Soon. Like, now.
I need my tax refund to come in (we did our taxes last week because we are KEENERS). It’s a large one; enough to keep me living this jet style playboy lifestyle of at least one meal a day and all the Diet Coke I can mainline for almost two whole months. There’s a mortgage payment due tomorrow, and the next influx of cash won’t arrive until next week, and AHHHHHHHHH.
When I got laid off, I set aside almost a third of my severance in a crazy dream of being employed before I needed it. It’s true that I’m inching ever closer to being a productive member of society again, but it’s definitely not going to happen before tonight at midnight, when I turn into the saddest pumpkin of them all: I’m going to have to transfer some of my Daydream Money over to the Real World account.
Ostensibly, the Daydream Money was earmarked to pay down some debt and do other boring, proper things. In my head though, that money is set aside for LONDON and it breaks my heart to think that I may have to be a fucking grownup about all this instead of fun and fancy free.
This September will be our Ten Slash Fifteen – ten years of marriage and fifteen years of carnal relations in highly inappropriate places. I desperately want to go somewhere fantastic and memorable with Ed to celebrate/dispose of the body, and ever since my trip to London last fall with Heather and Renee I’ve dreamed of going there with Ed. We don’t do a lot of big scale adventures like this together – maybe a road trip once a year or so. Hell, our trip to Cuba last year was the first time we’d been truly away on vacation together since our trip to Vegas after the wedding, ten years ago. If we’re going to do anything big, this year would be a great year to do it .. and I want to, badly. I’m pining to go back to Europe and have been frantically doing math to make it work – hell, the very second thought I had when I was handed my pink slip in December was “so, no immediate adventure? booooooo” followed by additional swearing. The longer I go without a job, the more of my Daydream Money I have to use to keep a roof over our head, and that makes me so sad and mad I could just spit venom into Newman’s eyes.
I know it’s frivolous and silly and not at all worthy of being a true crisis, but there we have it. My demands are simple, really: I need my tax refund to come in ASAP, and I need an awesome job I can kick ass at so I once again have a day-to-day purpose in life.