I woke up to white curtains of rain-snow and mist. I got up
early to meet with my pet-sitting client in town. She was handing over some
things I’d left at her place accidentally--and my pay.
I had just enough time to bake my weekly loaf of bread but not enough
time to eat any. I also had just enough time to check that my auto insurance
was current, and to make a cup of coffee, which I took with me. I was meeting her at a coffee shop, but I
didn’t plan on buying anything there.
As I drove down the hill toward town I realized I had
forgotten to brush my teeth. But then I remembered I didn’t have any toothpaste
anyway.
I had stayed at her place for a total of 36 days; at $15/day
this came to $540. I still have to make the rent on my own cabin. Her house had
two bedrooms and two and a half baths. Heated floors and a heated garage. Washer/dryer and a dishwasher. Two showers
and an extra large bathtub. Two dogs and
a cat. I was surprised to see the check was made out for $625. She said she was
happy with the way her house and her pets looked when she came home.
I thanked her and walked the check across the parking lot to
my landlord’s credit union. They deposited the check, made out to me, into his
savings account. I have an account at a different credit union, but unlike
banks, credit unions “talk” to one another—without charging you a fee. That was
handy, because it was snowing heavily just then. And I was fresh out of fee money.
$625 down, $75 to go. I texted my landlord.
I thought about driving to the supermarket. I had meant to
bring my propane tank for a refill, but in my haste I’d forgotten to load it in
the car. Toothpaste, a battery for my
kitchen clock, tea. That and propane would come to about $25. Oh, and eggs:
$29. But I knew if I went to the supermarket I would end up buying things on my
wish list: Ziploc bags. Vanilla extract. Cardamom. Flaxseed oil. Sigh. Out of sight is out of
mind. After the credit union, I went up the hill to the University greenhouse to
water what’s left of my germination experiments.
Two more years of grad school. $52,000 in my IRA account. $16,500 student loan debt. Should I just cash in the IRA to pay off the loan and live off the
rest until I graduate? I had been talked into hiring a broker for $39 a month
to help me get back on track. It seemed just the thing to do two weeks ago,
sitting in the well-designed home-office of the house I was house-sitting, petting the cat to keep her from swiping the cell phone out of my hand
with one lethal paw. I sent him a spreadsheet of all my expenses and
assets. We talked about my financial and personal goals. Where do you see yourself in three to five years, he asked. I see
myself as a post-doc working at a university somewhere, I told him. I see myself traveling to visit family and friends. I thought to
myself, would anyone want to hire/date a 58 to 60 year old post-doc? I might have gray hair by then. People/potential boyfriends would
assume I’m a professor/loser and think I’m too expensive/old. They might take one look at me and think: there
are so many post-docs/women out there with less miles on them. Do I really want
to hire/have sex with this old lady? What’s she doing being a post-doc/single woman at
her age anyway?
Why do I assume nobody wants me? The truth? I never wanted me
either. Once I realized that life is all about taking care of yourself because
nobody really cares about anything else, I thought: raw deal, so much
work, why bother? And yet, the body wants to breathe, the heart wants to pump.
What can you do? I get up each morning a mindless blob, and gradually evolve into
a human over the first cup of coffee.
Two and a half hours later, I’m ready to march out the door: Look out
world, here I come again!!
I used to have a handle on things. I used to be able to buy
any kind of grocery I wanted. Anything! Now I have to fork over a month’s pay
to pay a month’s rent. I have to go without eggs, and add baking soda to a sliced-open
tube of no-more toothpaste. In three to five years will I
be a jobless homeless toothless post-doc runnerup holding a cardboard sign just outside the
parking lot at Fred Meyers?
How the hell did life get so low-rent? All I wanted was to
be a scientist, but I find myself worrying more about my daily finances than
about my dissertation. Did I make the wrong decision? Should I have stayed an office worker? I would
have maybe stayed employed. I would maybe have savings. I would maybe be able to take vacations, see my family--pay my medical bills. Maybe I could buy new
clothes, nice wine. All these things I
could maybe do in my spare time if I had stayed in the workforce and survived layoffs. The rest of my time? I would be bored to tears clicking
away in some cubicle. If I still had a job.
