After 44 days of straight blogging, I’m pretty wiped out.
I am so drained of anything funny that I’m searching any and all memories trying to scrounge up something to write about. The truth is, I’m stressed about money. This is incredibly embarrassing but I’m really really low on funds. For the first time in my life.
Obviously I’m not alone. Many are struggling.
Thankfully I can still pay the mortgage, I don’t carry credit balances, etc. But there’s a level of shame associated with being broke that really drives the hilarity right out of me. I become immobilized with sadness and anger.
Now, I’m not in terrible shape, per se. I’m just disappointed that at my age (35), I haven’t yet figured out how to get this part of my life together.
My goal for this site is within two years to be able to generate enough revenue to pay the mortgage. And, I believe I will. Thanks to you I’m fully committed to coming home each night from my job and writing about things like The Girl With The Tiny Squeaker.
I asked my friend and reader Mary what I should write about tonight. She said, “What are you afraid to write about?” I said, “Money.”
When she asked why I wouldn’t write about money, I said that I didn’t want people to know.
But D.J., you wrote about pooping your pants as an adult and how you and your dad had a conversation about pubic grooming!
People can’t relate to that! But they can relate to being broke.
Sure – but it’s just sad and not funny.
Well, maybe throw in a good fart joke.
By the way, today I totally shut my office door and blasted like crazy while employees lingered outside. Thankfully nobody came barging in or I would have been fired.
Well, there it is – a fart joke. (that really did happen, though)
It’s hard for me to admit to others what I’m ashamed to admit to myself. The rub is that it always turns out okay when I have the courage to be honest. And I suppose that my readers deserve the truth about what’s going on. You’ve earned it. Now I just have to trust you don’t run away when I get bummed.
Either way, tomorrow I’ll be back with something awesome, like the time I drank a 40oz of Colt45 (technically a 45oz) in McDonald’s with dinner. I was way mature for 18.
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