A few months ago I was sitting at Grumpy’s with Kelly, Mike, and Vodo. The Vodo and I were talking about being relatively new homeowners.
“How do you afford a house all by yourself? Vodo asked.
And before I could even think about an answer, all the sarcasm cells in my body rallied and said “Because I’m rich.”
Vodo’s shook his head in surprise. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it?” He waved his hand in my direction dismissing me.
“I’m kidding,” I said. “I’m just broke all the time. I used to be really quite comfortable and now I’m broke. But it’s worth it.”
He went on to talk about weed whacking and other stuff I didn’t listen to, because I’m rich and have people to do that for me (and I pay an association insane amounts of money each month for those people).
After the weed whacking speech the Vodo talked about how he was winterizing his house and bleeding radiators and telling his girlfriend to put on an extra pair of slippers because he’s worried about the cost of heat.
His worry has infected me on some subconscious level. I’ve spent most of tonight working on some old writing stuff to submit to Bookslut. I hadn’t really been paying attention to anything until my teeth started to chatter.
I got up and checked the thermostat, it was 60 degrees in Supergenius Headquarters. That’s insane. Because I am a little worried about the cost of heat, I’ve been really good about trying to kick the heat down a notch or two when I go to bed (because upstairs turns into a Sweat Lodge quite easily), I just leave it down for the day, and usually turn it up when I get home.
Because I’ve been spending so much time not at home, I keep forgetting the turn it back up part. So I feel a little bit like Ebenezer Scrooge, because I’m not that poor.