Within a month of joining forces with my roomies, I was sitting on all this money. It felt like such a bonanza of riches I didn't know what to do with myself.
On the practical side, it was a huuuuuuge relief to no longer have to worry about how I’d be able to pay my rent each month. The little bit of dough I’d had stashed for my release had all but run out and it was beginning to worry me- what I’d need to do to come up with my little $600 rent, plus funds for enough food to keep myself going. What would happen if I couldn’t scare anything up.
And after all those years of struggling to keep my prison commissary account afloat, the last thing I wanted to do now that I was back on the outside was to have to crash back into survival mode.
I needed to thrive, not survive.
I stretched out on my bed, thinking of all the things I could do with my surplus income. There were so many options.
I could
· upgrade my computer situation with a top-of-the-line Macintosh
· spoil my nephews with a deluxe shopping spree at Toys R Us
· buy a discount ticket to Japan and spend a week studying rope techniques under that Nawashi I admired
· maybe get in touch with Gwen and ask her to refer me to an NYC-based therapist
All of these options seemed equally valid. All seemed viable.
I spent a lovely forty-five minutes of daydreaming about a world of endless possibility, then decided to just stack my money away and not worry about it until later. It was enough of a strain on my still-fragile mental reserves to keep up with learning the ins and outs of Donya and Marisol’s operation and my role in all of it- I felt like any decision I made in that moment would be the wrong one. I’d figure it all out once I knew for sure that things were going to stay good.
I truly hoped everything would stay good. But I wasn’t going to bet the farm on it.
I didn’t have a very good track record.
When I was living in Bed-Stuy, I had multiple income streams- Cabrón was breaking me off with money “from Mundo,” Biz and Lucci gave me $500 a week for the privilege of co-opting my apartment, and I had my dominatrix clients.
I had a lot of cash money, but I also had zero control over my living situation and I was a drugged out total fucking head case.
Then when I was in jail, I had zero money, I had even less control over my living situation, and pretty much no control over my daily movement. The only thing I had going for me was that I was sober and my head was finally clear.
And now that I had it all- money, stability and sobriety, it was starting to dawn on me that I had no idea of how to think about money properly. What was the difference between stability, comfort and indulgence?
Every time I thought I finally figured everything out, it became painfully apparent that I was still a disorganized mess.
There was always another level to it all.
What was it gonna take for me to finally learn how to live like a fully functioning adult?
