I Want A House To Fill With Things

And the money to do it with

Yeah, like that. (Photo Credit: Photo by Valentina Locatelli on Unsplash)

I’ll be 30 in three years. I have what people still insist is an impressive and lucrative degree. It took 10 years, but I finally have an official management position in my field. I should be making at least a living wage, and paying a mortgage, and getting ready to take the next step up the ladder. It’s what I could have expected a decade and a half ago.

The reality is, even with overtime, I can’t afford to live in a small apartment by myself. I’m not drowning in debt anymore, but I’m still treading water, waiting to feel the bottom with my toes. With my little brother paying rent and me paying the utilities, I can just make all my payments each month and still afford a bag of decent coffee. But I can’t save, I can’t pay more than the minimum most months, and I’m certainly not thriving.

Having a real house to make into a real home wouldn’t solve any of those problems; but the ability to achieve that dream would mean I’ve made a lot of progress. It would mean a respectable job that makes actually decent money, which would mean I finally found the grit to weasel my way out of foodservice semi-permanently. It would mean I erased my credit card debt and turned my sad, sad credit score around, which would mean I can finally save and start paying in earnest on my student loans. It would mean regular evenings to…