Whenever I start worrying about money, I know that means I am getting my period. The rest of the month, I am ok with cash. There are many things I want, and I’m the first to admit I have some expensive taste going on, but I try to check myself before I wreck myself.
My life is dotted with lots of used and re-used objects – lip and eye pencils worn down to nubs, eyeshadow from the 70s, 2 toothpicks in my car that have been there for about 3 years and going strong, old ass but not necessarily ‘vintage’ jewelry – meaning a necklace that my father gave me when I was 14 still gets lots of prime time around my neck and it’s made of aluminum.
I am frugal to the point of maybe an entry level hoarder, but I manage it, until PMS hits me and then I get real nervous. It’s like when I was a kid and I would lay at wake at night and worry about whether the world was going to run out of water. I could hear the leaky shower head in the bathroom next to my bedroom and in each drop that fell, I felt the planet get more and more thirsty. I’d go to school unslept and unhinged and later my imaginings would link with the greater conscience of the earth and become what we know of as “green”.
But then it was just kind of crazy and probably an early emergence of depression. It was less about saving the world than it was about worrying about it. And it’s the same with money with me. It’s less about saving it and more about worrying about it. I could cut some corners but i just don’t because then if i did there would be nothing to concern me. If I decided to never buy shoes again, I would still have at least a good hundred pairs left unworn to choose from when the heels are slit to slide my motionless feet into. That is assuming I make it to 100, which for me seems likely. I am always last to leave.
I love worry like I love nothing else. I must or else I wouldn’t do it so much. It’s vexing and troubling and dumb as I have had a run of incredible luck in my so far pretty amazing life and not one thing I have obsessively worried about has happened. It’s the things I don’t worry about that happen and then I start to worry about what I am not worrying about.