Money, money, money, money...or lack there of

When you think about it, 1998 isn't very long ago. It's only 10 years (which is a lifetime to a 5th grader). I was 25 and on the verge of finding my place in the world. But that verge wasn't so much a jumping off point as it was an on ramp that kept looping back on myself.

I had no money, no job, no prospects. Rent was next to impossible to come by. I had quit my job in September with no other job lined up (it was a miserable position and almost impossible to get to without leaving at 5am and getting home at 10pm). My roommate had nothing in common with me, we had fallen in together by circumstance, and he worked hours opposite of me. When we did see each other, the conversation would invariably turn to how much money I owed him.

I probably shouldn't have quit that job. But I was reasonably sure that I could find a temp job fairly easily. I was wrong. I didn't have a car, so I couldn't get to the jobs that were offered and available. I lived off my meager savings for months. By January, I had $11 in my account and I owed what seemed to be a metric ton of money to various people. My roommate had elected not to renew our lease and move out on his own. I moved into a room for rent with kitchen access and took a job in a deli. My hours were irregular, I walked everwhere (through snow, sleet, and rain) and my social life was non-existent. The people who owned the house were miserable and barely acknowledged my existence.

It was then that I really understood the importance of money and learned to hate it with a passion. Which is probably why I am terrified of not having enough money to support Sam and myself.

I'm sure it goes deeper than this, as I think I would by fine with no money if I was on my own.