I am so tired of having no money. Robert keeps taking out loans to cover debts, instead of working more. I want him to take a course in computer graphics. He could make money. But he won't do it. And he won't look for more work. He'll answer ads, but he won't go out and search. He won't do advertising. He won't start his own business. And I know why. Because he fears rejection.
He's so talented. But he doesn't know how to make money. It kills me.
I'm working. I'm working all of the time. But it's not enough money.
My father was reckless with money, always gambling it on horses, then confiding in me about the money he had lost, the debt he was in. So when my husband wants to talk to me about our mountain of debt, I can't listen. It hits a raw nerve in me. I can only listen first thing in the morning when I'm calm. At night when he talks about money it's like someone is slicing me open.
He thinks that it's okay to live in debt. But the debt sits on me like a dragon that is choking me. I know it must kill him too. I'm worried about him. I'm really worried but it's so hard for me to talk about money problems. I know if I were alone I'd budget, I'd cut back and live according to what I could afford. I'd make sacrifices. I'd feed the kids rice and beans. I'd stop going out to eat.
It's not like he's extravagant. He's just not willing to make any sacrifices. He lives like he's a rich man in a poor man's body….He refuses to cut back. If he decides to make asparagus soup, even if asparagus are five dollars a pound, he's got to have them.
I look around me and everyone is getting rich, everyone is hitting it big in the stock market, or in high tech firms. Well what did I expect? my mother asks. This is what I wanted. An artist. A man with soul.
I love him. But I'm frustrated. My mother's right. Money didn't matter to me when we got married. But now with the kids, well I want to be able to take them on vacation. I want to buy them clothes.
He keeps waiting to make it big, but it's not happening. He's sure any day, somebody will discover him. His paintings will sell for hundreds of thousand of dollars in a gallery.
And when I try to disabuse him of this notion he says that I'm undermining him, that he can't work anymore because I have no faith in him. And then he sleeps. I tell him he's depressed but he refuses to see it.
He is talented. But we can't live on talent. I'm tired of waiting for him. It's like my mother said to me when I was in school: I don't care what grade you bring home as long as I see you trying. I just don't see him trying.
