My most enlightened act of the last year was to cancel my credit card. I funneled all my modest savings into my education in the hope that this would pay off longer term in the form of an increased earning capacity. However, each time my earnings have increased the tide of takeaways, clothes, books, snacks, coffees-on-the-run, little gifts, etc. has risen to meet the new level.
The pattern of each month is always the same. Just before payday I’m broke as fuck and full of remorse for all those immoral visits to Vida E and my local lunch spots and all the times I gave my husband the “Oh, let’s just cheat and order takeaways tonight!” look of willful self-deceit.
Next comes the treacherous downward spiral that has its roots in the most fallacious assertion “Treat yourself, yo, it’s payday and you worked hard!” Oh heck, here we go again. Scarves, yoga pants, a nice meal at Doppio, a new book, a trip to the masseuse, garbage, garbage, garbage, Uber Eats, garbage.
Next comes the withdrawal (har har). Truly, it is like being a drug addict. My addiction is consumption. I work like a Protestant, and my salvation comes in the form of more spandex tights for yoga and a new set of gel tips. And some Indian takeaways.
I’m sure I’m not as bad as some (I’m not in any debt) but still, I stand no chance of saving up enough money to travel the world at the rate I’m going and… dahm dahm dah-mm… not a chance in hell of retiring comfortably.
And it all has to do with takeaway decaf skinny cappuccinos and a web of lies.
Today, at least, I went grocery shopping. Which brings me to the all-too-related topic of nutrition, which we’ll discuss in Meditation 4.
From the 16 Meditations for Deranged Workaholics series.