Friday, October 24, 2025:
The first thing I see on my phone is someone introducing themselves by email with a work proposal. Their profession: art lover, which can only be a euphemism for “Heir to a great fortune; I don’t know what to do with it.” It occurs to me to suggest they give it to me. Not all of it, just a fraction. The proposal doesn’t mention any fees, only an “artistic exchange of energies”, so I don’t reply.
I go to the FedEx store to print the papers the teacher sent us. I pay $28.45 for them. I immediately realize the print quality is so bad that it’s basically unreadable. I think about how I just threw $28.45 in the trash. It’s also true that the walk to the store gave me thirty minutes of leg movement and, at the same time, got Wolf, my dog, out of the house—her constant pulling makes me work my biceps and core while I coordinate her yanks with my steps. If I look at it from that angle, some people pay $50 for a Pilates class and around $30 for someone to walk their dog. I could say I’ve saved money. $51.55 to be exact.
Saturday, October 25, 2025:
It occurs to me that I could call this diary “Piggy Bank.” I don’t remember the last time I paid for anything with coins. Yes, I had to withdraw cash in Costa Rica a few months ago. I don’t know if I ever actually had any coins in my hands. The dictionary tells me that the word “cash” refers to “real and true money,” as opposed to chimerical or doubtful. Paying with a card is no more chimerical or doubtful than paying in cash. A bill is a piece of paper, after all. Just like a credit card is a piece of plastic.
We went for a walk around the Design District. We didn’t buy anything. My son got very sad and asked me if we didn’t have any money. I told him, “Yes, we do, but we don’t need anything today.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and, pinching his fingers together, offered me a little bit of air: “Here, Mommy, take my money.”
Sunday, October 26, 2025:
People who say the best things in life are free tend to forget that staying alive long enough to experience the best things in life isn’t.
Monday, October 27, 2025:
We discussed the possibility of getting a place in Barcelona. My husband threw some numbers at me, alarmed. I threw different ones back at him. Then he thought about it and came up with an even bigger number. I reminded him that we already had many of the things he was accounting for to reach that number sorted out. He reminded me of other numbers I wasn’t considering. I froze. It’s insanely expensive.
I’m considering replying to that art lover’s email from the other day. Maybe I can squeeze some money out of him.
Tuesday, October 28, 2025:
My husband is absorbed by his phone while I’m talking to him. I try again. On the fourth attempt, I ask him what he’s so fascinated and distracted by. He tells me he’s running calculations to figure out how much money we’re owed.
