Seeing Red: The Rock-Bottom Line

I avoided my budget all month like the plague: snacking on praline pecans, painting my nails and Polyvoring (see procrastination post) instead. (And yes, I have a budget, duh, my CPA boyfriend, Colin, made me). Now here I sit in bed, bundled up in a big, down comforter and April receipts, feeling anything but comfortable about my uncertain financial near-future. I have been in New York now for officially one month; this having been made abruptly clear two days ago by the cut-off of my unlimited subway card during morning rush-hour.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” I said as the daily grind bumped their way impatiently into the adjacent ticket terminal. But of course it’s no joke the way time and money flies here in NYC; especially when you’re having fun (as evidence by the cringe-inducing sum in the “Entertainment” expense field).

I knew I was going to come to grips this reality when I took a leap of faith; letting go of the suburbs and embracing a city where the skyline is the limit...(that, and your bank account, of course).

I didn’t want to see the numbers. Tearfully expressing this to Colin, I used the metaphor as someone who is gravely ill that doesn’t have much time left. If I were truly dying, I would not want to countdown the days I had to live out the rest of my life. Because life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take…ok whatever. I bucked up and did the damn thing and determined that my current inflow of cash & assets (minimal, but larger this month due to large lump sum of tax refund, thanks to darling CPA boyfriend), is considerably less than the outbound expenditures, i.e., rent, loosely classified “Entertainment” category, & Jeffrey Campbell rainboots (I won’t look back! Compliments and clearly envious stare-downs have solidified confidence in purchase decision).

I got three months*.

In the meantime, I will continue with an internship that enriches me, albeit mentally and emotionally; scouring real-estate ads for diamonds-in-the-rough at a grand or less a month (know of something, e-mail me here), and toying with the idea of selling my virginity on e-Bay (HA!)…ha.

Right now, Ingrid Michaelson, "Be OK (Live at NYC's Terminal 5)"

*This number is at best, an estimate that includes a buffer zone of roughly a couple thousand, give or take, just in case there is some unforeseen disaster, i.e., I really did have three months to live, or I had to visit a “specialist” of something or another which is not covered under my current indemnity health insurance plan which is not to get sick. (Falling off balcony/hit by cab, OK).