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Nun re-enters financial reality.
Apr. 3rd, 2022 08:25 pmBut first, last night was honest-to-goodness karaoke with La Fashionista, her ex R, and his friend M. I will attempt "Wuthering Heights" if you get enough cheap sake in me. More peeps would have been nice, but I had a good time. Thence to the Merc for a bit, followed by a train & bus home.
Last night was a nice break from freaking out about finances. I wouldn't be so worried about the mortgage payment if it weren't for one important fact: when I stopped paying alimony, I didn't really stop paying alimony completely. Ex said she needs help defraying our son's expenses. The Wendling spends five nights out of seven with his mother.
"But Sista Wendy", you say, "Your son is nearly 25. Why isn't he living on his own or in school or... something?" Because, dear reader, his ADHD, autism, and anxiety – I collectively call them the brain squirrels – make school and general executive function well nigh impossible for him. He can't even face the reality of his situation, which makes it that much worse. He's just barely working full time in a supermarket. He'll have enough seniority to get more hours late next year, but that doesn't help us right now.
I talked with Good Sister the CPA. She pointed out, unnecessarily, that I'm legally (but not morally) in a position to dictate to Ex just how much cash I'm going to give her. That's not how I roll, though.
I called Ex and delivered the bad news. It wasn't a fraught call; I didn't expect it to be. But I may have detected some irritation on her part at the price of my house. I refuse to feel guilty about it, though. If my son effectively gets the use of my car for the price of gas, I need to live someplace that's actually urban.
But what I do feel guilty about is that Ex says that even with her work picking up lately, she's had to dip into savings a few times in recent months. I guess I can go out less and spend less per month on beauty. Heaven knows I don't need more clothes or shoes. But I can no longer afford the considerable luxury of not tracking what I spend.
Goddess help me, I resent my ex a little and my son more. Well, not hugely, and it's certainly not a new phenomenon, but yeah, I'm wishing he were someone else right now.
So what's next? Ex is going to talk to the Wendling over the next few days, in short bursts because he'll nope right out if you try anything more. Anxiety, remember? I do have an ADU* in the new place. My capacity to take the heat off Ex without going bananas myself is considerable now, limited only by my son's (probably non-existent) willingness to commute or transfer to a different store and perhaps spend time with his M.
*Auxiliary dwelling unit.
Last night was a nice break from freaking out about finances. I wouldn't be so worried about the mortgage payment if it weren't for one important fact: when I stopped paying alimony, I didn't really stop paying alimony completely. Ex said she needs help defraying our son's expenses. The Wendling spends five nights out of seven with his mother.
"But Sista Wendy", you say, "Your son is nearly 25. Why isn't he living on his own or in school or... something?" Because, dear reader, his ADHD, autism, and anxiety – I collectively call them the brain squirrels – make school and general executive function well nigh impossible for him. He can't even face the reality of his situation, which makes it that much worse. He's just barely working full time in a supermarket. He'll have enough seniority to get more hours late next year, but that doesn't help us right now.
I talked with Good Sister the CPA. She pointed out, unnecessarily, that I'm legally (but not morally) in a position to dictate to Ex just how much cash I'm going to give her. That's not how I roll, though.
I called Ex and delivered the bad news. It wasn't a fraught call; I didn't expect it to be. But I may have detected some irritation on her part at the price of my house. I refuse to feel guilty about it, though. If my son effectively gets the use of my car for the price of gas, I need to live someplace that's actually urban.
But what I do feel guilty about is that Ex says that even with her work picking up lately, she's had to dip into savings a few times in recent months. I guess I can go out less and spend less per month on beauty. Heaven knows I don't need more clothes or shoes. But I can no longer afford the considerable luxury of not tracking what I spend.
Goddess help me, I resent my ex a little and my son more. Well, not hugely, and it's certainly not a new phenomenon, but yeah, I'm wishing he were someone else right now.
So what's next? Ex is going to talk to the Wendling over the next few days, in short bursts because he'll nope right out if you try anything more. Anxiety, remember? I do have an ADU* in the new place. My capacity to take the heat off Ex without going bananas myself is considerable now, limited only by my son's (probably non-existent) willingness to commute or transfer to a different store and perhaps spend time with his M.
*Auxiliary dwelling unit.
