Thanks for visiting. I'm a recent transplant to the Boston Massachusetts area, living with my boyfriend while he completes his MBA. I'm originally from Utah, I like Apple, FileMaker, writing about my feelings, and eating edamame.
Before you read any further please note: the following article is a rant and should in no way be taken anymore seriously than my other posts about Subway Sandwiches or Gizmo.
But I’m pissed off. At myself. Because of my credit cards. Let me explain.
After Gabe and I broke up in March, I started re-evaluating everything (including my increased waist size) and eventually decided to look at my finances; because that’s what a responsible person would do. And/or maybe Dr. Laura said something about it on her radio talk show (like how it's really stupid to get married to someone with a lot of debt because you take on the debt and the irresponsibility of the person).
When I think about the debt, my lungs start to swell and I reach into my left pant pocket for my inhaler. I feel suffocated because I have nothing to show for the red numbers other than some fabulous, yet costly dental work. And maybe some other junk that I really didn’t need to buy that may or may not have involved Star Wars and a broken something-or-other on my car.
After I calculated the real cost of my credit-card purchases, I nearly had a stroke. Some of the things that went through my mind were, “God. I really should have killed myself two years ago” and, “Who wants a fat POOR boyfriend?” Because aren’t those the things that make relationships work; responsibility and independence? I felt like I was nineteen again and that I should be living back in the loft with the stained-glass windows.
Five months later, I’m still in debt. But I see a light and it’s getting closer. Five cards have been wiped out. FIVE CREDIT CARDS. And I have two left. I know; seven cards in total...don‘t ask. I’m an idiot. That is all you need to know.
Determined 
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