Money Doesn’t Grow on Trees

It turns out my dad was right. Darn. I might consider selling my soul to the person who invents the dollar producing tree, though. Naaaa, that doesn’t sound very fun.

Financial woes are getting at us lately. My husband, the bread-winner, has lost the bread. Maybe he just lost the yeast, but without yeast, there is no bread. Ok there’s flat bread or something, but man needs BREAD.

 We are typical American consumers, with more than the average consumer debt, renting our duplex and finding that just when we get a mile ahead, there is a huge accident that sends us on a detour across town. We end up back at the same place a few months later, out of gas.

As I’m blogging, he is applying for a part-time UPS job. We have been thinking we can get by with him working part-time, while I get semi-regular work from freelancing and my job doing extended clerical jobs for a publishing company. I love that he wants to spend time with his son and wife more, so I’m choosing to trust that with our priorities in order, the financial stuff will get taken care of. There is truly nothing more precious to me than the time I get to spend with my son, and I seriously would pass a six figure job up before I would spend 8 hours away from him every day. Besides, artists are supposed to be poverty stricken eccentrics, right?  

Luckily, doors continue to open wide for me as I begin my freelance writing career, so even though it requires research and technical writing into things that totally don’t interest me, I can do it while Ethan sleeps, building myself a nice little nocturnal career!  

Speaking of which, it is nearly 1 A.M. so I should probably get ready for bed now.