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Things are literally — and figuratively — falling down around our ears.

Figuratively falling? Bobby’s officially leaving his company. There’s nothing like getting a phone call from your husband that goes like this:

Bobby: Uh, sweetie?
Me: What?
Bobby: So I have some news…
Me: WHAT?!?
Bobby: You know the paycheck that went into our checking acct last week? Yeah, well, that was the last time I’m gonna get paid.

Commence freak-out. I mean, it would be one thing for the *next* paycheck to the be the last one… but the one that’s already disappeared into the void of bills? Great. Super. That’s just fan-fucking-fastic.

And literally falling? I was sitting here a few minutes ago looking at the shambles that is our budget, and a dinner plate-sized piece of our ceiling fell. Like, PLOP, oh look, there’s a piece of our ceiling lying on the floor.

So what am I doing now? Drinking a beer. I mean, hell, what’s the appropriate course of action when a piece of your ceiling is lying on the living room floor & your finances are an abysmal mess? That’s right, there IS no appropriate course of action. So I figured a beer would work just fine.

I’ve done the numbers… with my little piddly-ass paychecks, and the class that Bobby’s teaching at Clem.son, we go into the red on Dec 15th. Go directly into overdraft. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

I’m aware that I’m bordering on tacky by talking about money… this is America and we don’t talk about how much we make or, in this particular case, don’t make. But this is my blog, damn it, and I can be tacky if I want.

So we have a short-term problem — that would be Dec 15th & beyond. And a long-term problem — that would be my husband is currently unemployed & I don’t make enough to feed a family of rats. Skinny rats. And she’s offered, but I don’t, don’t, DON’T want to ask Bobby’s mom to make our mortgage payment. DON’T. As in Do. Not.

Short-term plan: we’re selling shit. Seriously, anything that’s not nailed down is being evaluated for resale. The dogs are cowering in fear, with good reason. Bobby’s sitting at his computer furiously inventorying his gadgets & gizmos. And I’ve got my eye on the guest bedroom furniture… I never really liked that furniture anyway.

I asked Maggie if I could sleep in her big girl bed with her, and she agreed. So hey, I do have a back-up plan if everything goes completely to hell.

Oh wait. Too late.

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