Man, I am really fucking hard on myself, I realize and I don’t exactly know why. I didn’t have this like super crazy upbringing which involved any discussions of success at all. It was you work, you make money. Dreams were expensive then to have, and as a result I never let myself have any. As recently as I immortalized in a letter to my grandmother, my dad was full of sage advice like “shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which one fills up faster.” I mean, I did know making money was important so I did do it from a pretty young age. I had leaf raking, lawn mowing, snow shoveling and babysitting businesses from the ages of 12-15–then I got few real jobs with W-2s and benefits, though minimal. I had a job with health insurance when I first got sick–I did turn 19 in surgery and ultimately I was ALREADY out of my house.

Keep in mind my ass left when I was in high school still, so it was definitely pre-dissection. I was not counting on anyone but me to support myself and had moved out with my friends first semester of senior year actually-that Fall I left. I never lived with my parents again after that aside from a two week stint after one of the surgeries. By the time I was feeling better I literally took a bus to my boyfriend’s house who I was living with for a few months at that time. Then I went back to work and then I moved into another apartment. I did all of this as a sick person who had a few big dissections to start. Then I had another one in 1998, another surgery to get my valve done in Boston. Then I moved to NYC 9 months later.

I have been on my own since BEFORE my dissection and though I can admit a slew of months where my birth father helped me with rent in NYC because of some shit with some men I was with, and a chunk he did give me I wish I could go back to re-do–all in all, shit, even the parents I grew up with have had very little imposition on their lives from me. The birth parents have had the most as an adult–I guess even B gave up some leeway with cheap rent for a few years–but I met them as an adult, so that’s why influence didn’t run further back.

The reason I even came to this conclusion–the one I should be very proud of myself to have done as much as I have done while being as not as well set up as most. I left my parents as a teenager. I never went back. I don’t have anyone giving me money with any real frequency and the last person who did was a friend I would occasionally borrow $50. $100. $200 at a time but it has been some time since we used that out because when you have the damn resources, it does make that not as imperative (a person as a backup plan). I put myself through school though I couldn’t exactly pay for it, I paid for all the rest of the stuff I needed to–not being able to afford books was not fun and there was nothing I could do at the time, but I did support my ass for most of it–rent, food, medicine. I will die paying it all off I am sure as well. I lived all over the country. I moved countless times. I worked a ton of jobs, omg the sheer number of bars and restaurants I have worked at, coupled with the continuous corporate experience. Man–I am a girl with a wide spread of experience which is why I feel uniquely qualified to comment on that shit. The last bar job I had I legit told the owner off. I mean I told him off in the way every waitress with a shitty owner wanted to do. I said all the things we all dream of saying, I had that kind of epic quit—I wanted one, so that was one of my check marks on the things to do before you die list.

The new news on the younger generations is they stay attached to their parents’ finances and cell phone plans is from a world I do not recognize. Living with your parents past the absolute last moment you would want to is not a world I identify with, but I always did whatever it took to not do that.

Sure, I have no children. I have no house. I have no savings myself. I have a lot of debt but it’s actual debt to medical bills and for my education. This is why I could never have a wedding. Our credit card debt is like $3k total but I am working on it. I know, I know it is a lot but that is our debt combined so it’s snot bad. He has his car and his car payment. That Acura I had from 1998 was my last asset which is actually pretty fucking sad at the end of the day but it was all I had to show for any plus I had for a long ass time. But it was and now it is gone. Don could sell a bunch of my crafting stuff for a quick buck when my estate liquidates but honestly–the most value I legitimately have is squirreled away in my body in parts and labor. I joke around that they want me to pay the full value of a house to live in, but it’s my body that is my house and there is no other promise of shelter at all. I know, what other house do I need? And then I ask you the same thing. How grateful would you allow yourself to be to live but with no promise of a thing? LIKE NOTHING.

So many of you could not do what I have done without. So many give up right away. Some of you clearly need a reminder on perspective sometimes with the shit you choose to bitch about. So many people have no idea what I am talking about more times than I like to admit because again, my life has been dealing with issues of illness and death when I was young and the rest of you fuckers got to go live happy dippy lives at the beginning. If I get any happy dips it will be at the end of things.

One thing I did yesterday was call a broker service for an apartment downtown. It will be at least $2k a month. I need to double my contribution to not freak out about that but he did say, when you are ready, call me. I can get you an apartment in a day. A DAY. For most of you paying $2k a month is a lot of damn money not to own shit, but–who the hell is going to give ME anything anyways? No bank is going to lend to ME. Nobody with any sense is going to bet on this horse because it is half dead and only looks good from the neck up.

and that’s enough funny for right now…