I got a job working from home, because the idea of having my own money to spend on myself was a pretty nice thought.
No matter how shitty the job was, or how many cans of worms got opened en route, there was always that little sum of money at the end of the month to cheer me up. Thereafter follows the shopping trips where I don’t have to ask anyone for permission on what I’m going to buy. MY OWN MONEY, MY OWN DECISIONS.
It was pretty cool for a while. I got a bunch of clothes to replace the ones that are too big for me now. I got a pair of ALDO heels. I got skincare, and makeup. I got happy.
I was able to go out with my friends, able to pay for my own share and sometimes their share too. It was nice being able to pay for myself and occasionally be generous to others. After a long long stint of having fuck all to my name, there was now a sense of… independence.
But now all that is naught. Maybe it’s my fault for not having discussed about it properly beforehand.
I should have guessed – but probably overlooked in the flurry of excitement of having my own keeps – that once you have children, a family and a whole list of responsibilities, there’s no longer such a thing as “your own money”. It’s all “our money”. That’s what he’s been doing for the last few years, and why should I be any different.
Byebye Beirn. 😦 We would have been so happy together.