I have decided that finding ways to cut expenses will be a lot easier than finding a job to support my lavish lifestyle of unexpected vet visits, soaring gas prices, and the lingering prospect of seeing the roof that hangs over my head suddenly hanging from my bedroom ceiling fan. Sure, I'll continue to hand out business cards and obsess about a resume font that muffles the scream of "underachiever," but there's considerable (and immediate) gratification to be had from watching how small cuts can add up.
The land line that I have not answered in years is gone, as is the fax line (the number for which I cannot for the life of me remember). One barely functioning DVR is enough, and I can skip Starbucks every other day and brew my own bitter coffee at home. New items in my closet bore me as much as the old ones do after one or two wearings, so I carry a mental picture with me of my overfilled shelves and refer to it when I get the urge to take advantage of my employee discount at the shop. Car washes are out, and I have found that giving Manny a canine "whore's bath" every once in a while can cut down on the need for "professional" cleanings. Especially when I have a cold and can't smell whatever it is he rolls around in in the yard.
Watching the expenses go down has become so satisfying that I've even begun to consider cutting back on necessities, like manicures, eyebrow arches, and haircuts. I can't even tell you the last time I had a pedicure. And, while January brings its usual crowding in health club parking lots, I have decided to cut back on working out. After all, if I cut back on food at the same time it's a wash, and I figure my stress induced fidgeting during the day and sleeplessness at night can be enough of a calorie burner, at least while I get myself on more solid financial footing.
Apparently I have gone too far, crossing the line from luxury to necessity in my obsessive slashing of costs. Friends don't let friends drink and drive, and health club membership personnel do not let long time members fall off the work out wagon. Horrified that I wanted to put my membership on hold for a few months -- or, worse still, cancel, they offered me a one time deal during which, for a brief time (sort of like the life-saving mandatory waiting period for a gun purchase) I can continue to pull myself up on weight machines while not necessarily pulling myself up by my own bootstraps. "Do what you need to do," they have told me, "but do NOT try to do it without cardio and strength training." I thought about asking if I could play tennis and shop in the boutique for free, but I decided that might be pushing things.
My first handout, my first foray into an odd sort of welfare state. Yes, I know the freebie is short lived, and I know the gym knows full well that a free month here and there for an old timer will be just as effective in keeping somebody in the door as a free month for a newbie, but I am hardly in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I will begin my pull ups on the dole this morning, take advantage of a bit of gratuitous physical and emotional conditioning that might help me to stand on my own two feet, to pull myself up by my very own bootstraps. And I will confine my cuts, from here on in, to luxuries; necessities, like working out and shelter and clothing and weekly supplies of rich English toffee are officially back on the ledger.
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