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Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Let's just call it a New Years Resolution

I was at a New Years Eve party last night, I believe the second one of my 53 years.  It was fun.  I met some new folks, laughed a lot and really enjoyed myself before I went home to get some sleep before work today.
I met a woman who, at 29, is young enough [I was shocked to realize this morning] is young enough to be my daughter.  We had wide ranging discussion throughout the party, but the one that has me writing today was the one about her shoes.
She had these amazing red heels on.  The heels weren’t very tall, but very spiky.  The toes were pointy enough to do serious harm, should they every be used to do anything but cover the toes.  They also showed a bit of toe cleavage.  And there was this zippy little swoop [not like a Nike swoop] cut into the side of the shoes.
The compliment [that I was about to give her] started with, I have no style . . . and was intended to continue with, but even I can see those shoes are FANTASTIC, or something to that effect.
Eventually it got there, but not until my friend Cara jumped in to remind me that I do, indeed, have style.  As she does every time I make that statement.  Which I do, not on the regular, but somewhat more than infrequently.
Not sure why this popped into my head as I was massaging this morning, but it did.  When it did I realized that I need to reframe the thought, because I do have style.  It is definitely my own, it definitely runs preppy, and it is definitely all about comfort, but it is style.  And it works really well for me.
It’s when I talk to folks who are wearing something that, to me, is quite fashionable and far from anything I would wear, that I speak the no style thing.  What I really mean is, my choice of dress does not conform to what many consider fashionable.  I have awful memories of friends dressing me up to go out when I was younger.  They had good intentions, but they put me in outfits that I would never choose and I felt awkward and uncomfortable which made for unpleasant evenings.  When I wear something I choose I feel amazing.  Today at work I was wearing boyfriend jeans that I roll up from the ankle [with a belt], Danskos, and my uniform tee-shirt.  I felt confident, sexy, happy.  All of which was good as I didn’t have quite enough sleep, despite leaving the party well before midnight and getting to bed not long after I got home, and I had eight hours of massage to do.
This is where the New Years Resolution bit comes in.  I spoke a personal truth in that conversation, but the words I used weren’t accurate and had [sort of indirectly I guess] a negative connotation.  Word choice is important because we are creating a framework for how we see ourselves and the world, how others see us, what our world is.  If I want others to see me positively, if I want to see myself positively, I need to choose my words carefully.

Since I was thinking about this today, realizing that I need to pay a bit more attention to the words I use, particularly in describing myself, today - New Years Day, I’m calling it my New Years Resolution.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

White Privilege

Recently I had this exchange with a friend of mine:

She is young, tall, slender but curvy in all the “right” ways, beautiful - her appearance is one that I think many people envy.  She is smart, talented in her work, thoughtful, active, and fun to hang out with.
She shared the video to inspire.  She shared the video because it moved her.  It happens every day.  I’ve done it myself.  More than once.
But this one hit differently.  Maybe because when I watched that video I saw a really, seriously coordinated woman doing things on a treadmill that, if I attempted them, would result in serious bodily harm, if not death.
Yes, I am exaggerating, I [probably] wouldn’t die.  But that might be because I wouldn’t attempt it.  I can get on and off a treadmill without looking stupid, if it is stopped.  I survive running, but I often look stupid doing it as I stumble [tripping on your own toes is a thing].
I didn’t see a fat person struggling with fitness.  I didn’t see a fat person who deserved kudos.  I didn’t see a fat person beginning a journey.
I saw a fit person exhibiting impressive coordination on a treadmill.
Because I know too many people who look like that who are fit and not seeking to lose weight.  I know too many people who look like that who are ironmen.  I know too many people who look like that who could kick your ass up and down the street.
They will just never be thin.  Or thin enough not to garner comments like the one I got at the doctor earlier this year, “no meds?  Good for you.”  The first part said with surprise, the second said with that tone you use with old people who should be rewarded for  . . . whatever thing you think they should be proud of.  I’m 53 and I’m not on cholesterol or blood pressure meds, this is not miraculous.
Note to those under 35, everyone older than you isn’t ancient and not taking meds isn’t a miracle.
In responding to the post I realized what white privilege is.  I am white and have always known this was a thing, but could not have articulated it if you paid me.  I also imagine I don’t know how to be an ally without being condescending or obnoxious or uncertain or just generally stepping on toes without knowing it.  Though I started reading this today and I think that might help me feel like less of an idiot on this issue.
I realized what white privilege is when I was trying to communicate my outrage without putting that on my friend, I thought this is thin privilege.  And then I got it.  Which is not to say I equate my struggle with weight and peoples judgment of my body with the centuries old struggle of people of color, let me be perfectly clear - I do not at all think they are the same thing.  But my reaction helped me understand the concept of white privilege.
I wasn’t outraged at my friend because I know her heart was pure in sharing the video.  I was outraged at . . . the idea that this woman needed kudos, that this woman is used as an example of someone who needs to change and should be congratulated on beginning those changes, I was outraged at the thought that anyone can know her story.
I was outraged because I struggle, up and down, “good” behavior and “bad” behavior, etc - all day every day for most of my life.  We are not examples.  We are human beings with stories.  Our appearance and our stories are not the same things.
And as I typed that I realized how to be an ally - listen to the stories.  Just listen.  Don’t react with your friends story or your story or your anything.  Just listen and actually hear the story.

Telling my own story I have learned something - imagine how much you could learn if you just listened to hear.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

The end of the world as we know it

In 2012 people were worried that the Mayan calendar was accurate and our world was going to end on 20 December.
Given that I am here writing this, clearly those people were wrong.
If you speak in the most literal, destruction of a world sense.
I propose that the world as we knew it, did end.  I don’t claim to be the progenitor of this idea, someone suggested it to me sometime in 2013.  Can’t remember who, or the context, or why we were discussing it.  But I can remember that it made a lot of sense.
2013 was a year of tremendous professional turmoil and stress for me.  I struggled to get through it.  And I hoped that 2014 would bring better things.
On some levels it did, I didn’t have the same professional turmoil and stress.
I had different professional turmoil and stress.
Over the last four years some things have leveled off, last year I made the decision to quit my regular schedule and be an on-call therapist at the one job I had with a set weekly schedule.  I’m now on-call at two places and I work there on the weekends in order to make space for the universe to fill my Monday through Friday, and now some Saturday mornings, at Optimum Health Therapeutic Massage in Westfield, MA.  Switching to on-call helped my sanity on many levels - I work when I choose [generally when I know there is work to be had], I am not required to work nights, I am not required to work Thanksgiving or Christmas.
On the other hand, my finances are a complete Charlie Foxtrot.  I declared bankruptcy early this year and it was discharged without a problem.  I have paid a bunch of taxes for 2014 and 2015, new tires for my car, a full set of new brakes, quarterly taxes, and a hugely expensive computer repair - all in cash.  Or on my American Express which survived the bankruptcy with a $1000 limit that I use for anything I can and pay off two to three times a month.  Because Cash Back!
However, all of those things have pushed me to the brink.  I’m not sure that enough will be coming in to cover all the bills for December, or at the latest January 1 when my next rent check is due.
And this is with my student loans [almost $100,000] and my parents [who bailed me out a few years ago] not getting paid.
And now my health insurance is increasing by 61%.  I’m told it’s still a good price.  Fine, it’s just more money than I have.
I am spinning my wheels hard to make more money to end up in the same position of not quite enough.
So, what does this have to do with the end of the world?
I know what I have been going through for the last four years.  I have watched other people dealing with challenges in all forms.  I have watched what is happening in the world.  Most recently we have all experienced what is arguably the most contentious presidential election in US history, no matter what side you are on, it’s been ugly.  I have seen 100, 500, 1000 year storms at least annually around the country, and the world.  I have seen terrorist attacks becoming the norm.  I have seen people doing things to others that I just cannot fathom.
20 December 12 clearly wasn’t the literal end of the world, we’re still here doing what we do, getting up every day, going to work, buying groceries, grabbing a margarita with friends, whatever.
But maybe 20 December 12 was the end of the world as we knew it.  Maybe we are experiencing a cosmic shift.  Maybe we need to take a look around at what we have become and make some changes.

Maybe the end of the world as we know it is the beginning of a world we can’t even imagine.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Constant, unremitting attention

I was giving a massage at Cranwell today.  Bart’s Coffee Heath Bar ice cream popped into my head.  I can get it at a gas station on the way home from work.  And I usually do when it pops into my head.
By usually I mean every single time.
Earlier this year I did a great job with my diet - I was going on a cruise and realized I better stop eating crap because I wasn’t going to fit into any of my shorts and, equally significantly - I couldn’t afford new clothes.  I did great, my clothes fit perfectly when I went on the cruise.
Then I ate all the food.
Seriously, I gained five pounds that week.
More significantly, I started up again with the sugar and . . . 
BAM, weight.
I have continued to eat all the food - especially recently.  Honestly, it’s astonishing how quickly the body can grow.
So there I am, at work, thinking about Bart’s Coffee Heath Bar ice cream.  I’m going to get some.
Wait, last time I ate a pint of this stuff . . . I didn’t really like it.
Okay, didn’t like it, won’t buy it.
Mmmmmmmmm Bart’s Coffee Heath Bar ice cream.
Wait, what was that I was just thinking?  Right, it wasn’t worth it.  Don’t buy the ice cream.
I’ll just stop by the gas station on the way home . . .
Wait, what?
I managed, with constant, unremitting attention to skip the grocery store and the Bart’s Coffee Heath Bar ice cream.  I went straight home.  I had some left over chicken tortellini with pesto sauce.  Since I am leaving my house tomorrow to be at work at 9 and I won’t be home until 6, and I have nothing to eat that’s portable, I went back out to buy some tortellini to prepare for tomorrow.

And with constant, unremitting attention to my choices, I made it out of Big Y with no sugar.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Didn't you just . . .

When the clerk at Rite Aid looks at you and says, didn’t you buy marshmallows last time you were here?  I think it’s safe to say you have a problem.
I’m not saying this happened to me I did this.
Last night.
Picking up Campfire Marshmallows [by far the best of the easily accessible, inexpensive marshmallows].
At the Rite Aid a mile from my house.
On the way home from work.
I’m not saying that.
I’m just saying, that when the clerk at the local Rite Aid recognizes you because you’re buying marshmallows again, you might have a problem.
If you take those Campfire marshmallows home and eat them all, some toasted over the stove, others smooshed to a taffy life texture, along with a small bag of M&Ms Mega and some Movie Theater Popcorn, I think it’s safe to say you definitely have a problem and are out of control.
Which I feel comfortable saying because, as you may have guessed, I did this last night.
And when I type “this happened to me” instead of “I did this” . . . it gives you an idea of how fucked up things are.  Pardon the expletive, but seriously . . . If you’ve been here before, you know I what I’ve been through with sugar.  After a lifetime of feeling lousy and experiencing absurd highs and lows, and truly thinking I was more than a bit crazy - I found all of that went away when I stopped eating sugar.
Let me reiterate this - when I stopped eating sugar I discovered that all the negative stuff I believed about myself, was false.
I am not crazy.
I do not have out of control mood swings.
I am not basically unhappy.
I am not sickly.
This last is a bit of an exaggeration of what I thought of myself.  I never thought of myself as sickly, but I tended toward colds, belly aches, awful periods, acid stomach, general tiredness.
How does one reconcile all this knowledge with the fact that one continues to go to Rite Aid and buy Campfire marshmallows?  On the regular?
No, seriously, I’m asking you - how does one reconcile this?  Because I can’t.  It makes me feel like a fraud.  I know sugar is poison.  I ask my clients who deal with arthritis and other inflammatory conditions if they eat sugar, because I know how it aggravates arthritis - I don’t even know I have arthritis when I stay away from sugar.
Yet I don’t stay away from sugar.
I am a fraud.
I am also a sugar addict.
Last night I literally ate myself sick.
This morning I still feel sick.  I’m working this afternoon, though I seriously contemplated calling out sick - it’s not easy to give a beautiful massage when you are suffering.  But I need the work and if I drink a ton of water between now and then it will be fine.
As I sit here contemplating how to finish this up it occurs to me that feeling like a fraud is misplaced.  The fact that I am ruled by sugar doesn’t negate the knowledge that I have.  I’m not dictating anyones behavior, I’m just saying I know this to be true - sugar is poison.
Plus there’s the title of the blog, Diary of a Sugar Addict straight up tells you right off the bat that I am a slave to the small white crystals, along with most things that might as well be sugar.
Today I’m at the point in the cycle where I have eaten myself to such misery that I renew my commitment to throw out anything in my house that might vaguely resemble sugar.  There isn’t much as I don’t keep it around, I make myself go out specifically to buy it in the hope that I won’t.
You see how that’s working out for me.
But every minute is the first minute of the rest of my life.  And every first minute of the rest of my life holds the possibility that I’ll get it right this time.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Changing perspectives

Years ago I read something that said that if you show someone dealing with anorexia a picture of themselves they will see a very fat person.  If you show them the same picture, with the head covered, they will see what others see, in the more severe cases, a skeleton covered in skin.
I am fascinated by the disconnect.  It seems so extreme.  I know we all have different filters and we all perceive the world differently, but to see a fat person when looking at a body that has been reduced to skin and bones?  It’s hard to conceive.
It’s hard to conceive, even though I know that how I see myself is constantly changing.  It’s hard to conceive even though I know how long it takes my perception to adjust when I lose weight.  It’s hard to conceive even though I know I really have no idea what size my body is.  Seriously, you should see the range of sizes I pick up when I’m trying on clothes, I don’t have a clue.
Today this idea that a person will look at a skeleton covered in skin with their head on and see a fat body and look at the same skeleton covered in skin without their head on and see a skeleton covered in skin became slightly less inconceivable.
Not because I am soooooo thin or anything.  Nope, not that.
I have a large bathroom.  Across from the shower is a very large mirror.  When I finish my shower and open the curtain there is no way to avoid seeing my body.  Unless I keep my eyes closed.  If my eyes are closed I can’t see myself in the mirror.  But I’m kind of spastic and that is not the best option for my physical integrity.  So whenever I am standing in the tub there I am, reflected in all my glory.
It’s spring in New England - 30s and 40s over night rising to the mid/upper 70s during the day.  Several of my windows are open, at least over night so . . . it’s chilly in my apartment.
Don’t worry, I’m getting to the point.
This morning I took a shower and didn’t turn on the fan so my bathroom mirror got a little steamy.  Not as much as it does in the winter, my thermostat is at 55 or 58 overnight and my shower often occurs before the house warms up to the decadent 62 I raise it to if I’m going to be home for awhile - it gets pretty steamy.
The result was a headless body in my mirror.
I sort of noticed as I reached for the towel to wrap my hair, I wasn’t really paying attention.  But this thought passed through my mind as I wrapped the towel around my head:
There’s nothing wrong with that body.
I stopped, stood up, looked at the headless body and saw it completely differently and thought again:
There’s nothing wrong with this body.
And I cried.
I stood looking at this middle aged, curvy, pale torso, tanned limbed body and cried.
Because there is nothing wrong with that body.
Not a thought I have ever had in relation to my own body.
To catalogue for you what I ordinarily see when I look at my body: large dimply thighs that overlap each other and curve out in front of my body, ie the front of my thighs is not flush with my torso [I have no idea why I think they should be, but in my head this is a flaw]; soft belly that is not flat, particularly the little blub below my belly button; breasts that have endured seven significant weight gain/loss cycles and are tubes of flesh that need to be rolled up and tucked into a nice bra to be anywhere near where they “should be” [I’m actually very fond of my breasts, but they, not surprsingly at 53, are showing the effects of gravity]; arms that double in size above the elbow, talk about flap, I really need to start doing dips though it may be too late for that; I have this weird bit of fat medially below each knee, I thought it would go away when I got really thin when I trained for ChesapeakeMan, nope, it’s just how I’m designed; dimply butt, I’m the only one in my family with a round[ish] butt, until I lose weight, then I have a flat butt like the rest of them, but it’s still dimply; rounded shoulders, not as bad as they used to be, but still rounded a bit; knock knees.
Without my head I saw a white torso with tanned limbs, a bit soft around the abdomen and hips, but basically a nice shape, with really strong thighs.
The soft around the hips comes from thinking, that body might be more comfortable if it didn’t have that extra stuff, that softness.  It would probably move a bit more easily and not have as much discomfort from the physical work of massage, the running, the biking, the hiking, the walking, the general living, if there was a little bit less of that extra fuel around the hips and abdomen.
I’m 53 and there have been times that I have been deeply enamored with my body - when I was 42 and training for my first marathon, I got quite skinny and I loved it.  At 47, training for a half ironman and then a full ironman [and eating much more healthfully than when I trained for that marathon] I was head over heels in love with my body.
And I still saw the flaws every time I looked in the mirror.
Patriot Half 2010
I was enough in love with the smaller me and I was happy looking at my body [seriously, I was that annoying person who is thinks they are being surreptitious when they watch themselves in any reflective surface], but I still noticed all the flaws and could catalogue them for you if necessary.
ChesapeakeMan 2010
I have terrific pictures from ChesapeakeMan.  I love them.  When I don’t look close enough to see the skin of my arms and legs moving in a different direction from my body . . .
Collagen is a beautiful thing that young people don’t appreciate nearly enough.
I see other people who, I think, are about the same size and similar shape as me and I think, that person looks terrific!  Someone posted a picture in the Athena Triathlete group I’m part of on FB commenting on her activity, she was doing some strength training.  She looked amazing.  My comment was that I think [because I have no faith in my perception of myself and, therefore, no faith in comparing my size to that of another human being] we are built very similarly and of similar weight and I think you look terrific, why can’t I see myself the same way?  Or something to that effect.
New Bedford Half
Marathon 2010
Today I saw myself that way.  I didn’t see the dimples.  I didn’t see the fat.  I didn’t see the sag.
I saw a nice body.
I saw an attractive body.
I saw a body that a person should be able to be happy living in.
I say should be because I am 53 and have spent much of my life being not good enough.  I have listened to others - society, media, people I know, people I don’t know, all of the crap that gets thrown at young people telling them who and what they should be [regardless of how unlikely and, more significantly, irrelevant all of that is] - because they knew better than I did.  I was a good little girl and I internalized all of it.
There has been a shit ton of great, amazing, and happy in my life, honestly.  But there was also a lot of alone, miserable, and depressed because I wasn’t what I “should” be.
The 40s were amazing because I let go of a lot of that.  When people tell me they hate their 40s I say, you’re doing it wrong!  This is the time when you realize that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, the time when you get to be okay with who you are and where you’re at.  Seriously, I loved my 40s.
And still, I looked in the mirror and saw only flaws.
I’ve worked hard to get here, I like me.  I don’t like the way I see, actually, physically see, the amazing body that has carried me through 53 years of tremendous adventures.  I have long had a deep appreciation for my body, what it does for me despite the way I have treated it [crap food, not drugs or alcohol], but visually flaws are first and foremost.

Except today.  When I saw a pretty nice headless body.

May 2016
May 2016

Look what happens
when you stand up

Pre P90 2007
Pre P90 2007
[never thought I'd share these, ever]

New England Classic 2010
A very rare thing - a photo of me that I like

Patriot Half 2010
Even at my smallest I weigh more than
Deb and her bike combined

My family at a wedding in 2014
Down from my high at the Five Borough ride and feeling
great, was shocked at how big I looked

Five Borough Bike Tour 2014
Heaviest I've ever been, windbreaker wouldn't
go lower than my waist

Skidmore Reunion 2010

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Adventures in fiscal responsibility

Last month I made a vague plan to write and post at least once a month.  Here it is the 26th of February and you can see where I am with that plan.  I am okay with it though because there has been a ton of stuff going on. [Now it’s the 23d of March and I’m just picking this post up again.]
Almost all of it relates in some way, shape or form to the ADD diagnosis I wrote about in January.
And it’s all exhausting.
The biggest thing was my decision last month to file bankruptcy.  I can think of one friend who is possibly having a stroke as he reads this.  He is a banker type, really good at what he does and pretty well off.  He also acts like my older brother, though we are, essentially, the same age.
My ability to deal with my finances are a mixed bag.  I am astonishingly good at managing my money, right up to the moment when I have run screaming up to the edge of the abyss and the only option is jump over the edge, and then begin climbing back up.
Seriously, not a late or missed payment right up to the moment when I realized there was no money to pay the credit cards.
I have dealt several times with giant debt.  And since secrets can’t hurt you if they aren’t secrets, I filed for bankruptcy protection in 97 after using credit cards to get through law school.
Well, let’s be honest, I used credit cards to buy all kinds of things I shouldn’t have during law school.  I was a shopper back then.  Not so much anymore, don’t ask where the most recent debt came from, I can’t tell you.
I was the beneficiary of a large check in a legal settlement that helped me out in 2011.  And a large loan in 2014.
Each time I say, I’ve learned my lesson.
It turns out that the lesson, while learned, could not be put into practice because of my brain.
I’m not putting all my financial woes on the ADD.  Clearly, I am responsible.  The problem is the magical thinking that comes with ADD.  That’s not the actual term, you might have guessed, but it’s the term that I use.  My counselor tells me that people with ADD have this idea that “things will work out.”  I’m stupid impulsive - sure, I can go away with you for the weekend, I can make it work.
And I can.
Right up until I can’t.
My counselor tells me that the top ADD researcher [can’t remember his name] calls ADD a disorder of doing: I know what to do, I know how to do it, I know how important it is, and I don’t do it.  When I told my dad that he said, that is exactly you.  Which was exactly my thought when I heard it.  It makes sense of so many things in my life.
And it explains why I keep ending up in this financial situation.
This time it will actually be different.
Unfortunately since I decided to declare bankruptcy I have gotten socked: a 2014 amended tax return with a $480 bill accompanying it.  A cat spilling wax on my computer, minimum cost to fix it, $349.  Taxes due for 2015 in the amount of $1248, plus the need for quarterly estimated tax payments in the amount of $1260 for 2016.  Paying my accountant for telling me that, $435.  A doctors bill from August of last year, under $200, hardly noticeable.  An increase in my health insurance of $173 a month because someone at the health connector heard a number that was $20,000 too low when I called to adjust my income last year.  Two massage license renewals this quarter totaling $450.  A continuing ed course for $500.  Excise tax for my car to the tune of $181.25.
I got through all of that.  Well, not all of it, but everything that needs to have been paid at this point: two licenses, excise tax, 2015 taxes, accountant, continuing ed class, increased health insurance [one payment anyway].
The bankruptcy was filed yesterday and the IRS won’t ask me for the $480 until it’s discharged in July so I can save for that.
In addition to all of this, I’ve managed to begin putting some money aside for stuff like my liability insurance and AAA membership due later this year.  I’ve started saving for next renewal of my massage licenses.  I even have $261.64 in savings.
It’s been surprisingly easy to make the right choices.  I am learning to effectively use the budgeting software that I have been “using” for a couple of years.  I also have a friend who looks over my budgeting with me and makes suggestions regularly.  Some I follow, some I say not so much.  Not because those aren’t good suggestions, but because we think differently.
Then today happened.  I knew it was coming, I’ve known since I had my snow tires taken off the Outback last spring.  The snow tires were done and my mechanic told me that I had some miles left in the other tires, but I’d need to think about replacing them before long.  I’ve been meaning to stop at the shop and have him look at the tires for weeks now, but my schedule got in the way.  Until yesterday.
“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but they need to be replaced.”
Six hundred and thirty eight dollars.
That’s the number I heard when I listened to the voicemail this morning.
That’s the number I asked my budget adviser to figure out this afternoon.  I have money sitting in the TBB [to be budgeted] envelope of YNAB [You Need A Budget, the software I use].  I was at a loss as to where to put it.  In a bit more than a month I’m taking a vacation for two weeks and I’m pretty freaked out about no income for two weeks.  Oh, in case you are thinking, two weeks of vacation?  WTH?  Didn’t you just file for bankruptcy?  I’m using some frequent flyer miles and someone else is paying for the rest, a generous and much appreciated gesture.
Still, it’s two weeks without work.  So I have some money to be budgeted and I have these tires to pay for next week and I have some income and a bit of fairly guaranteed work for a couple of days when I return - but there is a lot of uncomfortable uncertainty.
So I said to my budget advisor - when you have a minute, could you please tell me what makes sense?  Because I just can’t.  I have hit the wall and nothing makes sense right now.  None of it.  I thought maybe I would take money out of the tax folder, I’ve saved the full 2015 bill and I could, if necessary, set up a payment plan with the IRS.
Honestly, that is pretty appealing.  I’m very proud of the little bit of savings I have accumulated and that doesn’t include the small amount I put away for vacation.
But the budget advisor had other ideas and I’m trying to reconcile myself to that.  I was determined that my savings would stay in tact.  It’s not much, but I have been putting into it every week.  My vacation fund is small, but it’s something  - and I leave in five weeks so there isn’t a lot of time to rebuild it.  The funds I’m putting aside for my nephew, there’s time, but the point of starting now was to have time.
My reply to the budget advisor involved much venting of my spleen and many curse words.  Actually one curse word repeated many, many, many times.
It took me more than a few minutes to get out of the “I’ll never f*&^ing get ahead” mindset, a completely unproductive one that doesn’t serve me and isn’t likely to be true.  But I did get there.
Because at least I have actual cash that I can actually use to actually pay for the tires.  The rest will work itself out, it always does.

The budget advisor’s comment when I sent the entry to him:
To the reader, that last line may read like how you described managing finances with untreated ADD.
What's different is that you know what to do and how to do it and are actually doing it.  It will work out because you will make it work out.  The right opportunities will emerge and you will take advantage of them like an unscrupulous investment banker.

He’s right, I know what to do and how to do it and I am doing it, which is precisely why it will work out.  It has always worked out, in some way.  Now I’m just doing my part to make it happen.