All week long, I have been thinking about the weekend--not in the "relaxation" vein, but rather, the "OMG I'm going to be running my a$$ off all weekend" thought process.
Short list: Moving! Yes, moving. Well, starting to move, I mean. This would constitute random trips to the new place with car-loads of stuff that I don't need for the next week. I'll figure a few trips. I think.
Then, since we are moving, and oh, by the way, we actually don't own anything like plates and bowls and such, we have to find time to get out and buy plates and bowls and such. And toilet paper. Real exciting shopping trip, there.
Sandwiched in between all of that excitement, I have to buy bread. Bread. Sandwiched. Get it? Yeah, yeah...anyway...I need to take a trip to the bread store to help with the lunch-packing extravaganza that we have every morning at our house, and I want to go to a particular bread store, which is sort of out of the way. Like, Eagan, out of the way. Cuz I like that one, and I'm a dope and won't settle for the one just a half mile from my new place. I'm not sure how this errand was raised to any level of importance on a weekend in which I should be concentrating entirely on the logistics of getting all of my possessions from Point A to Point B, but, it was. And I refuse to let it go, for some reason. What the hell is wrong with me?
Meanwhile, storms are brewing all over the place. Full moon, you know...I found out from a friend that there were massive lay-off's at her job yesterday--she survived. Of a staff of 200, 40 people were let go. Oh, and TODAY is the company Christmas party. Merry Effing Christmas. Hope that Christmas party comes with an open bar. There are a lot of overwhelmingly sad and ridiculous details, but in the interest of confidentiality, I'll just say that it's a disaster--an absolute disaster.
Then, I had a friend ask to borrow money. And some clouds rolled in.
I have a thing about that...a gigantic thing. Ask me for money, and automatically, I start to twitch. It is easily the most uncomfortable thing in the whole wide world, for me, anyway. I hate it. HATE. It.
Now, I'll buy you lunch, I'll put gas in your car, pick you up a pack of smokes (or a concert ticket! Guess who we're going to see? HA!) if I'm going--any of that kind of stuff. I'm good like that. This morning, I scooped up one of my friend's bills off the dining room table and paid it. He didn't ask, I just did it--he needed it, so, I did it. So, I'm not an evil penny-pinching witch or anything. I just have a thing about people asking me for money. I can't help it. My mind automatically flies into the "What did you do with YOUR money that makes you now want some of mine?" mode and I shift into overdrive trying to be as nice as humanly possible to avoid being as bitchy on the outside as I feel on the inside. In fact, perhaps the only occasion in which I feel OK about blatantly lying to someone is when they have asked me for money, cuz I wanna be nice and tell you I'm hurting for cash right now, rather than say what I'm thinking, which is more along the lines of "Are you fucking kidding me? What did you do with YOUR money that makes you now want some of mine?"
The thing is, I don't want to know what they did with their money. Not really. I don't care. People can do whatever the hell they want with their money. Until the very second when they ask me for some of mine. What if the thing I want to do with my money is not the same thing as what you want to do with your money? Does that mean we can't be friends?
Here is the thing...I have found, in this life, that there is virtually nothing that I can't live without, except air, for a period of time. Most people in this country have way more than they need, myself included--roof, food, job, car, easy life--I want for nothing. When I tell you that I never borrow money from people you can believe it, because if I can't afford something, I do without, period. Sometimes, its tough. Sometimes, it is extremely tough. But, you survive. Sometimes, people (including this particular friend) are extremely kind and give me things at a time of need, but I would never ask. Not ever. I just don't. I believe that if I can't obtain something through my own hard work and resourcefulness, then I don't really need it. It's one of my very core values. In fact, it might be THE core value in my life. I don't "get" borrowing money. I can't grasp why a person would do that--I just can't wrap my head around it, at all.
I have accepted a million (billion?) kindnesses in my life--people have been very, very good to me. Extremely good. In return, I have offered many kindnesses--some accepted, some not. I don't recall any one of them in particular, but I do remember the nice things that people have done for me--or at least I remember the feeling of it. I think that ultimately, humans are programmed to share--its just something that we do. You have space on your couch, so you invite someone to sleep over if they've had a few, or, you have a gigantic turkey to cook, so you have people over for a meal, or, you have a bunch of extra widgets that you will never use, so you give them to someone that you know will use them. We're like that--all of us. When life is bountiful, we share. Unless we are complete assholes.
In my blissful brain, I don't keep track and I don't apply a value to any act of kindness. They are all priceless. A little thing that was easy for you to do might mean the world to somebody else. There is no way to measure it. I suppose that is my problem when it comes to money--It can be counted--in fact, it begs to be counted. When you start to place a value on things, rather than considering all kindness precious, well, then you start to keep track, and it all goes downhill from there, doesn't it?