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| Monday, April 11, 2005 02:47 PM |
| Hot damn and halleluiah |
| by poppy |
I've never been any good at math. It's a constant struggle to keep my checkbook balanced; asking any more of me is pretty much a guarentee that I'll start crying or screaming. Sometimes both. It is hard being in my family sometimes, with a father who handled people's benefits for years, a mother who learned to be a nurse before they had pre-measured medications, and an aunt who plays with other people's money for a living. Sums and long division come to them easily and fluidly; tax withholdings miraculously make sense, investments prosper as if by magic (years ago people didn't die when given their freshly-mixed IVs). It has long been my custom to let other people do my taxes and make my money grow (and mix my IVs); numbers just don't do it for me. They are a language I never learned, spoken in a land I don't really want to visit.
This being said, it is completely beyond me how I can quit one of my jobs, thereby cutting my income in half, and it will barely cause a ripple in the mortgage amount the bank (silly, silly bank) is willing to give us. I was trying to do it on paper and became properly terrified; the bank dude looked at it and said, oh yeah, that'll only knock you down X. Huh. Well, I'll be damned. Whatever you say bank dude. I'll just go write my letter of resignation now. |
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