This is going to be very personal and rather painful. It’s probably going to make Wendi unhappy, but she’s just going to have to deal with it. If I don’t vent somehow I’m going to absolutely explode.

Getting behind on my NaNo quota is one thing. Having the landlords call you up to demand $1900 in back rent by Friday “or else” is another thing entirely.

You see, I didn’t know we were still that far back. Wendi has always insisted that we’re in better shape than that. You see, this came up two years ago and it nearly ended our marriage. Turns out, then, that things haven’t improved financially at all since that time. We owe exactly the same amount in back rent that we did two years ago. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked us out already.

What is it about November, anyway?

I tried going to the Fireside Lodge coffee shop on Powell to get some writing done away from the house. Most of the ethernet jacks are along this long counter with log stumps for seating. I’d like to know who the genius is that believes sitting on an uncushioned log would be a great way to spend an hour or two. After twenty minutes the circulation had nearly stopped in my legs from dangling over the hard edge of the stumps. There were no footrests or backrests. Oh, and did I mention that the heat was set for sauna levels? After my second dizzy spell I realized that heat stroke was not going to get my novel written very quickly.

So, basically, I spent my evening hiking to the Fireside from my house, basking in an uncomfortable sauna (and only churning out a couple hundred words over the course of an hour or so) then hiking back to the house. My hiking time was spent being supremely stressed about the very real chance that we’d be losing our home in a matter of days.

When I got home at about 9:00, Wendi told me that she’d talked with the landlords and we no longer have to cough up the entire $1900, but instead just a portion of it. Great, let’s start hitting up the relatives for cash again, shall we?

I hate this. I absolutely hate it. I’ve spent years making myself indispensible at work hoping to get a substantial enough raise to make all of our money troubles go away. I make about $45k in annual salary and it’s just not enough. I don’t know what more I can do. What’s worse, I find myself resenting Wendi and her years of buying Mary Kay product to keep her precious “consultant status” when she never had the drive or discipline to actually sell the damned product. I can clearly point to those years of amassing pink-labelled product as the time when our finances spiralled out of control.

The capper, of course, is that Wendi feels compelled to lie to me about things so I won’t get upset. Which, of course, makes me even more upset when the truth comes out. I’m having some serious trust issues with her again, just like during the last two winters. I’m tired of it.

Okay, yes, I get angry. I’m sure that years of sarcastic commentary hasn’t exactly made her eager to say things that might put her in a bad light. But dammit, this has got to stop. I’m angry, I’m tired, and I’m so tightly wound I feel like I’m going to explode in a spectacular display of flying body parts. Whoops, where’d my left arm go? Is that my foot? I seem to have lost my head. That one too.

Maybe I’m my own worst enemy. Years of having to put up with my foul tempers have made Wendi into the person she is today, so perhaps I have nobody to blame but myself. It isn’t really fair of me to take this out on her, no matter how tempting it is. But still… dammit. Where’d the money all go? Little pink boxes?

We may have dodged a bullet this time, but I still have no idea at all how to make all of that money. I don’t have a solution, and it’s only a matter of time before the landlords really do get tired of waiting.

I want to make it all better for everybody so Wendi and the kids never have to worry again. I can’t, and it’s killing me.