Refried Beans

It’s 11:45am. I put the box of Cheerios back into the pantry, thinking that if I eat too many, the girls won’t have enough for the next two weeks until we get paid again. Today is pay day. I see a  black and purple colored can towards the back of the shelf marked “jalepeno refried black beans,” something that I once had bought for a buck and some change. I should probably just have it and not complain, at least it will be filling. Scooping every single bean out of the can, I heat the contents up in the microwave and listen to the crackling sounds exploding behind the small door. Ding, sounds the timer, my lunch is ready. As I grab a spoon and head back to the sofa to read more about Dave Ramsey’s “Snowball Plan,” I reach over to the thermostat and turn it up to 78 degrees; it’s 98 today. I place my bowl on a coaster and read over his baby steps for attacking debt, yet my mind can’t help but drift back to California and all of those years we lived carefree; spending our Sunday’s at the farmer’s market with our little girls and close friends; trips to Lake Tahoe; professional baseball and basketball games; and of course, our end-of-a-hard-day sushi dinner dates. Boy, do I miss eating fresh nigiri rolls and toasting to our happiness with unfiltered sake. Buzz. What’s that? Picking up my broken, $600 smartphone, I read my husbands’ text:  “We should have enough for some milk, babe.” And just like that, I am quickly transported back to our new reality and realize as I fight back my tears, that I can no longer flirt with debt. I am breaking up with you–and this is my vehicle for leaving you: chronicling my moves.

break up