Michelle's House of Horrors

Since I may be unemployed soon, or making a good deal less money than I do now, I’ve been thinking a lot about money and lifestyle. It’s been stressful being in limbo about my professional and financial fate.  Three months of not knowing if I will have a job, or if I do how much of a drop in pay there will be…and there’s still no end in sight. See previous post about seeing a counselor.

The other day something occurred to me: I have never been unemployed as an adult. Not since my twenties, which doesn’t quite count.

That lead to yet another reinforcement of what I know on many levels. I have had a very lucky, very privileged life. I know it on an intellectual level, but hadn’t really stopped to appreciate it on a purely practical one as it applies to work and money. That is mostly because I have been in the very rare position of not having had serious problems related to money in my life.

The last time I was unemployed was decades ago. I was briefly unemployed at 21 when I moved from Poitiers to Paris. Ask me about being an illegal sometime. Does that count? I was still technically in college. Then again briefly when we moved from Paris to Oklahoma City in 1987.  The last time I was ever unemployed was in 1990 when I started working at Legacy.  I was 26 years old. During that time I wasn’t single, which makes a big difference in the perception of how urgent it is to find work. If there are two of you, it’s easier.

This is the first time I contemplated  the possibility of unemployment as a single woman, and I think that is a big part of why I am so stressed out about it.

Like most of us  I was underemployed during my twenties and early thirties, but once I went into IT that changed. I’ve had health insurance for decades without interruption. I own my own home. I have a pension, retirement savings, life insurance and a fairly impressive net worth. I have parents who have also done well in life, so I may even inherit some money.

Although I sometimes worry about how I will get things paid for, I’ve never really had to be concerned about making ends meet. Not really. It was stressful during my last divorce when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to afford the house, but it worked out. I have always been able to have a roof over my head, food, and utilities. Sometimes I’ve gone without extras like cable, but generally speaking I have done very well professionally and I’ve always tried to put money away in case of an emergency.

If I do become unemployed, I guess that would be an emergency.

Even then, I have more of a cushion than the vast majority of  people. I have savings.  I’ll get a severance package, and take away hundreds of hours of unused vacation time pay. If ever a person was ready to be unemployed, I am that person. It doesn’t make it easy, but I could probably survive for a year or two just on the severance, vacation time and savings and that’s not even taking unemployment into consideration.

If I get a roommate or two? My mortgage wouldn’t be as much of a financial concern. Or I could rent out my house for more than my mortgage, move in with my folks and live on my severance package and savings until I retire and my pension and 401K kick in. Or sell my house,  move to Nebraska, buy a house for cash with the equity and do whatever the fuck I want to do for a living.

Options abound, because I have been prudent, lucky and privileged.  What’s my point? That I’m a spoiled bougie bitch who should quit complaining about stress? Well, yeah. Kind of.

If I had not benefitted from a family who made sure I got an education, if I had been born in a different place, if I had been born with a mental disability, if any leg of the foundation of my life had been yanked out I could be in a different place right now. My supportive family, my education, my ability to learn pretty much anything. My inquisitive mind. My race. Good luck. Living in a relatively prosperous state. All of those things are crucial.

I might be concerned, but am I panicked? No, because I’m prepared and because even if the very worst of every possible thing happens my family wouldn’t let me be homeless.

I have the ultimate privilege in that I have people who love me who will always catch me if I manage to fall in spite of everything I have done to prevent it. It is the biggest blessing I could have, and a lot of people have none of the things I try not to take for granted.

My loved ones will catch me, I know, but I still get exhausted just trying not to fall.

This is what happens when I wake up curious in the middle of the night…
–Me

When I wake up in the middle of the night I sometimes find myself heading down a rabbit hole.

It might be a rabbit hole involving a book, or a niggling idea that wants poking at, or even a series of messages needing to be sent. I do love writing at night, and I am appallingly indiscriminate about it at times.

Oh, the late night blogs and text messages.

If you are on my late night “send” list, I apologize. I can’t be held responsible for what I might do and say under the influence of insomnia. I do try to redirect myself to other forms of writing as much as I can, but I am only and eternally human.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a weird question in my head.

More than once that has resulted in purchasing books I might otherwise never have read.

Or sometimes it’s a song or movie I can’t quite place. Googling ensues. What did people do in the middle of the night before the Internet? Did insomniac movie buffs just have to have unanswered questions about how many movies Bette Davis was in where she played twins?

Two, but I always think it’s three because I can’t ever remember that “Dead Ringer” is the movie it actually is.

Last week I woke up during the night and looked at my phone to see what time it was. It was after 0200. I saw I had a message on a dating app. I put my phone down and snuggled back into bed without reading it because it was the middle of the night. But then I was too curious about what the message said to go back to sleep. Which is silly, because usually the messages are really boring.

I picked up my phone and read the message and the sender’s profile. He looked just like the Dude. He was up in the middle of the night making donuts and new friends. We chatted for a little while about how the Dude’s sweater is different from Starsky’s sweater, why he would love Burning Man, and the awesomeness of kilts.

He said “when you went to bed a few hours ago did you think you’d end up talking to someone about Burning Man in the middle of the night?” “Not really, but this is what happens when I wake up curious in the middle of the night.” Then I went back to sleep.

It was an odd, unexpected sort of a thing. The sort of thing that happens when you give in to curiosity.