Buried in Bills

Living on your own is fucking expensive, yo.

The bare facts of this were nicely camouflaged when I lived in Chicago, as Jenn would just give me the total bill for the month, so I’d write one check, not 8. Totalling these all up separately makes you realize just how much… stuff there is to middle-class living.

Granted, a lot of it is still catching up on various and sundry medical payments (I got a $50 refund from one of the ones I’d overpaid. I’ve spent so long not paying these that now when they come in for the 85th time, I try to pay them if I can, and there’s some bum accounting on my part).

Only $800 to go, once I can get my old insurance company to admit that they’re responsible for paying the $700 one.

I look at what I’ll be making this year, including book money, and I’m thinking, “How is it possible I’m still in so much debt?” and then I look at the pile of unpaid medical bills leftover from last year’s three emergency room visits.

Ah.. that’s right!

I also try not to think about the fact that I’d be a lot closer to being COMPLETELY DONE with medical debt if I would STOP GOING TO CHIPOTLE.

I’m on the 5 year plan here, folks. One day at a time. Things get better, including me. I just take a frickin’ long time.

So long as I’m an adult by 30, I figure I’m doing pretty well.

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