Now that I don’t have so much of it, it’s become less important to me.
Well, that’s not quite how I mean it. I mean OBVIOUSLY it’s deeply important. It’s the source of my food, safety and bed. Also the cat’s food, safety and bed.
What I mean is that I’m no longer so concerned about having more of it than I need for my most immediate needs. I don’t long for a newer prettier car. I don’t want a new outfit every week. I don’t need a fancy vacation. I don’t even want to live in a nicer place.
So I guess it’s not that money isn’t important it’s that I’m not as concerned about the less important things money can buy. As a result I don’t feel a lot of pressure to make more and more and more money.
On the other hand, I’m not rich. I don’t have enough money saved for retirement and at my current income I never will. I just don’t make enough and there isn’t enough time to make up for the loss of my life’s savings. This doesn’t bother me too much.
I’ve come to realize that my mental health requires structure which I get from a job. So. It’s OK with me if I die while still working.
On the other hand, I am currently working 6 days a week. The 6th day is overtime and that income is what makes my life more comfortable. I don’t worry quite as constantly about each thing I buy. I am not trying to figure out how to make $25 in the bank last for the 5 days until my next check. I’m not scared of an unexpected charge sending me into the red. I easily save money.
Those things are a WHOLE LOT MORE COMFORT than a fancy car or big house. It’s like laying in the middle of a huge bed on top of a down comforter. It’s warm and soft and good.
But the 6th day of work is starting to wear on me. For the first year or so that I did it, my Sunday overtime was quiet and filled with side tasks and responsibilities unique to that day. It felt different to the rest of my week. I was home by 130pm and it felt like I still had a day off. It never really felt like I was working 6 days/week.
But in my new job, it’s the opposite. It’s now my current job, without my coworker’s there to help and my old job wedged into it. It’s more work, it’s more pressure and it’s hectic. I stay a lot longer. It now feels like I work 6.5 days per week. I don’t want to do it anymore. And here’s the thing. I don’t really have to. I could just say I’m not doing this anymore and they would find someone else to cover the phones on Sunday Morning.
But I’m not excited to give up that money. It’s the cushy bed that feels so safe and COMFORTABLE.
I’m grunchy a lot of the time at work. I think it’s because I’m there too much. I take it all too seriously.
I spent the first several years after homelessness on the verge of financial disaster. I managed. I got good at it. I won’t fall into financial disaster if I stop working on Sunday. I will just stop feeling like I’m in the middle of that down covered bed. I will be back on a cot worrying about falling off the edge when I turn over unaware.
Maybe I can compromise and work every other Sunday. Or just cut the cord. I’m getting soft living with all this money comfort. 😎 Said the girl who is finally making what she made 20 years ago in an entry level job by working overtime in this one.