5 Stages of Financial Incompetence

It was pay day yesterday, so naturally I did some online banking* and checked my balance. I discovered that, if I don't want to go into my overdraft, I have about £100 to last me until January 15th, after bills and travel costs. I still have to buy food out of this fund, but fingers crossed I can take inspiration from snakes over Christmas and just stuff myself so full of food that I don't need to eat until again until around January 10th. Here's hoping.

Now, you may be wondering if this is my normal monthly allowance: it isn't. Well, what happened? You may be asking yourself. Here's what happened: essentially, I am some kind of infant who should not really be in charge of all areas of my life. I should be judged unfit for independence and assigned some kind of accountant and/or care-worker to help me live my life. My life works on some kind of Indepence Failure Cycle - let me explain...

Stage One:
Am In Charge of My Life Like A Boss.

During this stage of the cycle, I am organised. I am efficient. I am sensible. I check my accounts online on a regular basis, monitor my spending and know exactly how much I have left of my self-issued allowance after every purchase. I consider said purchases carefully: when grocery shopping I find the cheapest items available; I shop around for prices on toiletries or other essential purchases; I think about how much I have left to spend before buying luxury items or treats for myself. I am, in other words, THE KING OF MONEY. At this stage in the cycle I reach the end of the financial month with money left over; I put money into my savings; and I get another step closer to paying off my overdraft. I feel like a proper, sensible grown-up – except I feel a sense of smug self-satisfaction about my achievement, which I think sensible grown-ups don’t actually feel.

Stage Two:
Only-Child Syndrome.

Stage Two begins innocently enough. I’ve had a phase, sometimes several months long, during which I have been in rigid control of my spending. Stage Two then begins in one of two ways:-

One: the Shoulder Devil begins to speak up in my mind.


Two: I see something, strictly speaking over my budget, which I really, really want.
Sometimes I don’t immediately crumble. Sometimes I resist the urge to go over my budget – but ironically, this just empowers Stage Two. The more I resist spending, the more I feel I deserve to buy myself a treat as a reward for not spending.

I’m pretty sure Stage Two has its roots in the fact that not only am I an only child, but I was the only grandchild until I was about nine. I am still the only grandchild on Mum’s side of the family, which means that “spoiled” seems like kind of an understatement for my childhood. I mean, I actually had an actual pony.

As a result, although I’ve been relying on largely my own earnings since I got my first part-time job aged sixteen, I’ve never emotionally come to terms with the fact that I cannot have everything I want, as soon as I want it. Logically, I know that some pleasures have to be delayed and that I cannot afford to buy a life-size My Little Pony Dream Castle in which I can build a cinema room and I will have cushions made of silk and an all-Alessi-products kitchen and I will ride a unicorn that is also made of gold and can fly and my friends will die, actually die of jealousy. I know this. However, the petulant, whiny, over-indulged five-year-old that still lives in the back of my psyche does not know this; or rather, refuses to acknowledge that we need to accept our financial limitations. Thus the irresistible power of Stage Two.

Stage Three:
The Extravagant Purchase.

Sometimes it’s something relatively small, but it’s bought at the end of my financial month so just pushes me over budget.

Sometimes it’s something big that I really shouldn’t be spending my money on.

Either way, I make a purchase that breaks my budget. From then on, something snaps in my mind and I lose all remaining traces of my Stage One control.

Stage Four:
YAAAAY! BUYING THINGS!!

I’ve already blown my budget, right? Screw it, I may as well buy all the things!

This stage is similar to people who have trouble dieting because, should they have so much as one biscuit, they figure they’ve “ruined” their calorie intake for the day so they may as well enjoy it, go nuts and eat everything in the house. And then go out and buy cake.

Once I’ve made that one over-budget purchase the Shoulder Devil takes over completely and the rest of my mind gives a mental “oh well” shrug and just goes along with things.

During this time I do not check my balance online; I don’t look at my balance at the ATM; and I press a firm “no” at the “Do you want an advice slip?” stage. Obviously the advice is “put the money back in the bank” – but I’ve sailed past the point of no return in the SS Wilful Ignorance and there’s no listening to reason now.

Stage Five:
Shame and Guilt.

At some point, usually after the subsequent pay-day, I work up the nerve to check my bank balance. I then consider how much damage I’ve wreaked on my former careful-savings-plan.

I then swing and forth between intense guilt and shame for my over-spending, and sheer, outright panic and despair over the implications on my budget for the next few months. As the guilt/panic eases, I realise that I must live to an even stricter budget for awhile in order to compensate for the damage done to my savings/overdraft during Stage Four. This, naturally, leads back into Stage One.

Clearly, I need some kind of grown-up assistant (or possibly a helper monkey/thinking-brain dog) to supervise me. They can either act as a Voice of Reason during Stage Two, thus hopefully averting Stage Three altogether; or they can act as damage limitation once Stage Three has been reached, thus preventing Stage Four. Until the day I am assigned such help by the state, the wheels turns ever onwards….

*Not rhyming slang.

It's ups and downs, it's ups and downs, it's ups and downs.

Bit of a week of swings and roundabouts, as per usual. Monday night my team won a pub quiz, which is pretty awesome, and Saturday I won a bottle of champagne in a raffle! Fundraiser for my friend's new theatre company ( Bare Knuckle Theatre Company < / promotion>) and a fantastic night. However, the usual good/bad balance of my life soon redressed those wins - some bloody Spanish tourist bumped into me on St Mary Street as I was walking (read: limping) home, knocked the champagne out of my hands and it smashed on the floor. The guy obviously knew it was his fault, he stopped and said "oops" as the bottle smashed - but then he tries to claim it wasn't his fault.

Bastard.

I think I wouldn't have gotten so angry if he'd at least apologised. I doubt it would have completly eased the pain of my loss or prevented me from getting angry at all (I'm pretty much fueled by rage) but it would have at least appeased my wrath somewhat. As is, I'm still not over the loss of that champagne. And that experience is just one example of why right-thinking people avoid St Mary Street on Saturday night (see previous rant).

Still, the rest of the night was lots of fun - especially during the performance. My friend H. and her boyfriend were sat at our table for the start of the show, they get into a screaming argument, he strops off out of the room, my housemate and I don't know where to look ... then H. starts singing, spotlight hits her and it's only then I work out that was part of the performance. It was brilliantly done, a few actors and those involved in the production had sat at different VIP tables that were set up on the centre floor (yep, I was sat at a VIP table, I am super-awesome) and for different parts of the performance they would do their scene around the tables and then sit back down after. Very entertaining!

I've also had a pretty random day today: a guy came into the library I work at, noticed my limp and crutch (still mending from ankle breakage), we had a brief, polite exchange about how I broke said ankle. So far, so normal day. Then later, he hands me a note that says, "For the injured library lady. Call me on this number if you fancy going for a coffee or something!" Why he can't just ask me on a date is kinda beyond me; I was also deeply flustered by being asked out in the middle of the day. Isn't it an unwritten law of British society that we can only make moves on people in the pub or at a club..? It was all very unsettling. I think I blushed. I also went with the classic "I've got a boyfriend" line as the politest way to turn him down - I was in work, I have to be polite to people and keep my natural vitriol and sarcasm in check. Still, was flattering to be asked out on purely aesthetic terms - not like my charming personality and bubbly nature had time to work their wonder, after all.

Be interesting to see where the week goes from here! Gods willing, with some kind of recompense for the loss the that champagne. Still that was probably my bad karma for not sharing it with everyone at our table during the show...

Creative Problem-Solving 101

Well, to round off a thoroughly shitty year (more on that another time), I ended up breaking my right ankle (and fracturing a bone in my foot and rupturing the ligaments) on 22nd December, and have spent the weeks since with a cast and crutches to hobble about on. Oh, sure, 7 or more weeks off work sounds like a laugh - at first. After 23 days of being essentially housebound (I made part of the family Christmas festivities and have been for fracture clinic check-ups twice), the novelty is truly wearing off and I am developing severe cabin fever. I'm also semi-watching Megashark Vs. Giant Octopus, which should go some way to clueing you in to my mental state.

Anyhoo, in the spirit of keeping myself occupied, and passing on hard-earned Cast Survival Tips for the similarly afflicted, I thought I'd share the following hints and tips, gleaned from four weeks of having the cast and crutches:-

1. The Chair-Shower (patent pending)
"Don't get your cast wet", they say. "Don't even try taking a shower", they say. I say, you serious? Seven weeks of nothing but stand-up washes at the sink (also known as the "Tart's Bath"*)? Not on my watch. To install your own Chair-Shower, take 1 (one) metal or plastic chair, without wheels obviously, and place it in your shower cubicle. Put it on a towel or bath-mat so it doesn't slip - Health and Safety, people. Then wrap your cast in a towel, tucking the edges into the top of the cast, and drag a stool or second chair to the front of the shower. This requires a lot of hopping and balancing and I suspect I will have one crazy-strong leg at the end of all this, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Sit on the Chair-Shower chair, rest the leg with the cast and towel on the stool/second chair, outside of the shower, and you're ready to go.

2. "How the hell can I feed myself now?"
Sure, most major supermarkets deliver, and by adding a note to your order they'll even know to give you more time to grab your crutches and hobble your way over to answer the door, so you won't run out of supplies. But how the hell do you go about preparing your meals, and, once cooked, how do you get them to the table, or, more realistically, the couch, so you can eat your dinner in front of the TV like the lazy slob you are and always have been? Well, my friends, the answer is simple: another chair. Ideally you want a dining chair with a firm seat - you can then push this chair around your kitchen, using it both for stability and as a transportation device. Push it to your fridge and freezer, put the things you want to cook with onto the chair, then push the whole lot over to your worksurface. Hop around gathering up other materials, then you can rest your injured leg on the chair while you cook (or microwave; see the aforementioned "lazy slob" comment). Once your meal's ready to go, you can hop into the living room with it. Unless it's soup or something; then I'd reccomend getting a housemate or family member to carry it for you. Voila! Dinner is served.

3. The bathroom's upstairs - the TV is downstairs....
If spending the next few weeks confined to your bedroom doesn't appeal, then at some point it's likely that stairs will become an issue.
a. Going up: There are two ways I've found - and my life is currently empty enough that I now switch between them just to mix it up and keep things fresh (don't cry for me - I'm already dead. Inside). The first is going up on your hands and knees; as long as you have a below-knee cast, you should still be able to bend your leg enough that you can do this without much fuss. The second way is backwards: sit on the stairs and push yourself up onto the next step above with your arms and one leg. Done.
b. Going down: Slide! Remember when you were a kid and you used to slide down the stairs on matresses, blankets, trays, anything, nothing? Do that. But keep it controlled by using your arms to brace yourself - you don't want to pick up speed, not be able to stop, and whack your already broken leg/foot/ankle when you hit the bottom.

4. Get a Helper Monkey
There are loads of things that will now be just impractical for you to do, yet are still pretty essential. Tidying and cleaning up, carrying cups of tea or coffee from kitchen to living room, laundry etc. Lucky for me I have a wonderful housemate who has been doing these duties for me, and visiting friends have taken it in turns to perform the role of Helper Monkey for me. True, by the time this cast comes off I will have burned through the good graces of every friend I have and will owe my housemate two solid months of cleaning the house and making tea for her, but it's a fair price. If you can, get a friend, housemate, partner or family member to help you around the home!

5. Ensure you have a reason to get out of bed in the mornings
Ties in with the whole cabin fever thing, but is also probably a symptom unique to me and those who don't just see the glass as half empty, but smashed into pieces on the floor. You'll be signed off work/school for at least four weeks, and enjoyable as books, DVDs, Lego Batman and Guitar Hero are, you'll need to find some sort of purpose because otherwise just getting out of bed and getting dressed seems so utterly pointless and futile. Arrange for friends to come visit, see if you can find someone to play taxi and take you out to the cinema or somewhere crutch-accessible, obsessively alphabetise your DVDs, arrange your records/CDs into an autobioghraphical order, anything to fill your days and nights and prevent you from just becoming one with your sofa and losing the will to live.

Well, that's all the tips I can think of for now! If you or someone you know has been affected by the issues raised in this programme, there's probably a BBC helpline.

......Thought of another!

6. Get a bag
Trying to carry books, bottles of water etc around the house, and wondering how to do so when you've got your hands full of crutches? Simple! Get a bag. I'm using a canvas messenger bag, 'cos it leaves my hands free to hobble myself around with crutches and has lots of space. I've also borrowed a flask off a friend's parents and so have a ready supply of tea/coffee that I can take into the living room. Ahh, what a success I've made of my life....







* Washing the underarms and undercarriage.