Gas is up to $3.69 at the cheap station on the corner and the media has spouted three different in-depth accounts of why I dropped $78 on two bags of groceries this week.

Story number one, the obvious: with gas prices over $4 a gallon in some places, cost of transporting food is driving prices through the roof. Well, of course.

Story number two: a CNN account of how commodity traders are responsible by betting on futures. Get past the basic supply and demand model and economics flies right over my head. I don't totally understand why, but it made sense when I was watching.

Story number three: federal mandates requiring farmers to grow corn for bio-ethanol fuels has cut into our food supply. Not only does less corn make it to market, other grain crops shrink to make way for more corn we can't eat. The point: we need to find an alternate energy source or we'll likely starve ourselves fueling our excessive lives.

Oh yeah, and one more story I heard last week, related to the ridiculous price of surviving: it's been 30 years since the U.S. government has increased food stamp funding. And, the ever-wise W is poised to veto two bills calling for an increase.

I'm low on grocery money this week.

From day one of separation, I've said money wouldn't be a deciding factor. I would not have a poverty-inspired reunion.

I'm not sure now. The higher those prices climb, the deeper my debt. I've been so busy surviving these last few months, I haven't paid any bills. Well, I did pay gas, but only because it was turned off. WiFi, too.

The harder it gets, the more appealing my marriage looks. I keep asking myself, if money weren't an issue would I still be married?

I mean, in these 18 months of separation, I couldn't afford to file even when I was positive I wanted to.

Now, I'm just broke and uncertain. 


I thought that any day now my fixation on the relationship between Rob and money and me would subside, and I would move on to cover other aspects of my journey contemplating separation.

Not so fast. Something most unexpected has happened: a windfall!

Tens of thousands of dollars may not be much to you readers, but given my life-long struggle with money, it's like manna from heaven. It could even put a large dent — nay, it could halve — the student loan debt I'm so resigned to be paying for the rest of my life that I didn't even make it part of my financial story previously.

But there's a catch: This windfall is Rob's. The company he works for has been sold and his stock shares are being paid out.

This sudden change in circumstance makes me realize I never thought true security was in the cards for either of us, together or separately. I never considered we would move on from renting to owning, from budgeting around car and student loan payments with no nest egg in sight. Struggling, apparently, was part of my identity. And part of how I saw us as a couple.

Mildly interesting, sure, but you're all wondering why I'm musing thus if it's Rob's money. Indeed, in my last post I attested that I couldn't let Rob pay for my past mistakes. I still feel that way. But Rob — even with the knowledge I'm apartment hunting to instigate a trial separation — is remarking: "We can pay down your student loan!" "We can have a nest egg!" "We can take a proper vacation!"

What is this "we"? Is he dangling a carrot?

While I have no intention of biting for the wrong reasons, I do wonder: Do I deserve any of this money? Years ago I nursed him through crippling self-doubt and encouraged him to go the direction professionally that would reward him for his talents. He has been rewarded. Do I get a take?

Last week I wrote about the debt I carried for years, my thrill at having recently paid it down, and my worries about building it right back up if I separate from Rob. A couple of readers noted a passing detail — that Rob and I never combined our finances — and wondered why. It's a good question, and one for which I don't have an easy answer.

One particularly astute reader asked if that might indicate there was a hesitation about our commitment from the beginning. Probably so.

I earned a bit more than Rob did when we first lived together (before we married). In fact, I remember putting rounds of drinks for his friends and me on my credit card — wracking up points with Rob, and keeping my credit card balances high to boot.

But these days Rob's salary surpasses mine by far. As this developed, and I was struggling to finally bring my embarrassing debt under control, I felt I didn't deserve any of his money. Were we to put our money together, and pay our obligations and debt together, Rob would have been paying for my past mistakes.

That didn't seem fair to me. And perhaps that says a lot about us — that we're not a partnership of two souls making their way through the world together come what may, but a convenient and safe companionship that stops short of unconditional support.

In a nutshell, the situation I described in Paying for Past Mistakes, Part I goes: Ten years ago I indulged in things I couldn't afford and put myself in debt. Over the past couple of years I started to consider leaving Rob, but that old, crippling debt has kept me dependent on him for security I can't afford alone. This past year I've worked my @$$ off to pay off my credit card debt and put a bit of savings away. I'm on the cusp of affording independence.

Sounds great, but not so fast. Moving away from Rob will suck up that savings in one fell swoop: the dreaded "first, last, and security." And we're talking Boston rent. It's not as high as in New York, but it's certainly inflated and nearly impossible to afford.

Even with roommates I'd be living on a budget that allows no room for error. Faced with a medical bill or emergency, I'd have to use credit. And I wouldn't have the income to pay it back immediately.

You see where this is going? By leaving, I'll put myself right back in the same boat I was for the last 10 years: in debt with no savings. And this time with no safety net either, as there will be no Rob to bail me out.

I guess the solution is clear: wait. I should wait until I have enough savings to cover the move with enough left over to serve as a safety net. But — sheesh — that will keep me here another year!

Patience. Sit tight. Right? 


In graduate school I lived on credit, paying for everything from food to rent with plastic. I also had a British boyfriend who lived across the pond. In a couple moments of emotional desperation, I flew to him despite the costly last-minute airfare.

And when we met each other in Spain for a budgeted vacation, I used a payphone on the beach in Marbella to call MBNA in the States for get an additional $1,000 in credit to extend my trip across the straights to North Africa.

Are my master's degree and travelers tales worth the thousands of dollars of interest I've paid since? Are they worth the $180 minimum monthly payment that could have built a comfy nest egg by now? I'll have to say no.

For the past year I've been budgeting down to the dollar, restricting nights out in favor of paying down debt and saving money. My goal is financial independence from Rob. We keep our money separate, pay our own debts, and contribute to rent and household bills according to our income. I have been living paycheck to paycheck, meeting my obligations with no room to spare. Rob, who earns much more, has disposable income and is the household safety net.

Last month with a few strokes of my pen I paid off my last credit card balance. Victory! I've also I've built up a bit of savings. Of course, putting the required "first, last, and security" down on an apartment will blow all that. And in leaving Rob I sacrifice my safety net. Can't. Get. Ahead.

Turns out, I'm not desirable roommate material. Here are some typical snippets from the apartment listings I've been reading:

"We are mid-20s, looking for one roommate of same age to complete our household of four."

"Young professional looking for second roommate in 20s or early 30s. 15-month lease only."

"One bedroom available in Victorian June 1. For more information, please respond by telling us about your situation."

"We are recent Boston University grads looking for a 20-something female to fill 1 bedroom in 3-bed apartment. Summer lease with option to renew for 1 year."

Egad! The people I can afford to live with think I'm too old and would probably consider my situation sticky. With no savings and only a moderate salary, the only place I can leave Rob for is a room in an apartment of strangers. Young'uns!

I imagine they are enjoying the freedom from responsibility of entry-level jobs, lead relatively carefree and simple lives, and go on dates a lot. They don't want a 34-year-old married woman cramping their style. And they need to depend on a roommate to stay through a lease, not bail if she decides to go back to her husband.

Can't blame them. I wouldn't want that sort of roommate! But where does that leave me? Makes me want sit tight, right here at home with Rob. I haven't even met any potential roommates, but I imagine I like him much better! The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.

Must. Keep. Looking.

"I just don't get it...why are you still in this relationship?" That's a quote from one of my readers, and it's a valid question. Honestly, I stared at that comment for about five minutes without moving, and then I read it aloud to myself. Then I asked myself, "Yeah, Megan, why are you still in this relationship?"

Oddly enough, even though I'm just crazy enough to ask myself a question out loud, I'm not quite crazy enough to have an answer.

There are many reasons why I'm still in this relationship. I'm scared to death of turning my kids' world upside down. I'm scared at having to make it on my own financially. I'm scared of walking away from a relationship when there might be a smidgen of hope for us. I'm scared that my husband will fall back into the suicidal feelings thing.

I'm scared of ending a marriage that I began in a church, standing before a pastor, my family, and God, with me promising to stay with my husband for better or for worse until the day I die. So yeah, basically I'm scared.

I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a big scaredy-cat. With life in general, I'm not really ever paralyzed with fear. I make a decision and leap right in. When it comes to this, though, I'm frightened out of my mind.

I don't like being so scared of something that it keeps me from making a final decision. This isn't my usual fare, and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Ask me why I'm still in the relationship, and I'll give you a big, confident reply of "I have no idea." I'm just scared, that's all. I can't rush into something that terrifies me, and going from married to not married terrifies me.

I can't be the only person to have dealt with these feelings, can I?

What scares me:

I'm afraid of moving on.

I'm afraid of not moving on.

I'm afraid of not seeing my kids every day.

I'm afraid of seeing my kids every day.

I want Sam to move on and find the woman who can love him fully for who he is, sensitive and loving and beautiful. A woman who makes him feel these things about himself.

I'm afraid Sam will move on and find another woman and she will raise my kids with him.

I'm afraid that leaving him, again, will ruin my kids. Take from them any sense of trust and security.

I'm afraid that staying will doom them to a lifetime of staying in unfulfilling relationships because they will constantly recreate mine.

I'm afraid of how hard the logistics of raising them together separately will be.

I'm afraid of how hard living in one place will be.

I'm afraid of poverty, together or alone.

I'm afraid that I can't make it on my own.

I'm afraid that we can't make it together.

I'm afraid of going crazy.

I'm afraid of being sane.

I'm afraid of what my friends and family will think about my putting this marriage almost all the way back together, just to leave it again.

I'm afraid if I do not go I will never know how much of me I have given up by staying.

Hard week, this week.

I'm feeling trapped here in my life again. In this little apartment thinking, This is not how I want my kids to remember childhood: Their mom sleeping on the couch.

Roxie's starting first grade in the fall and all I want is for her to begin school living in a little house, in a neighborhood full of kids.

I don't know how to get from here to there.

The only way is another giant leap of faith. I'd have to move into a house knowing I can't afford it, and believe I will find a way.

My feet feel grounded in cement.

I don't how many of you are fans of The Secret, but I'm a believer. Actually, I've known The Secret for as long as I can remember. Way before there was a book or movie professing its magic. Essentially it says the universe is governed by the law of attraction, or simply put, ask and you shall receive.

It's undiscriminating, too. The universe is a big a ball of energy that doesn't separate positive from negative. It hears our wants and it delivers. When I watched the movie I thought, well, of course it works like this.

Of course, we can manifest into being the lives we want. I always have, the good and the bad, including my current financial struggles and poverty. Somewhere a long the way I got this stupid idea to be a writer I needed to struggle. Every time my life got harder I said, that's all you have? Come on. Bring it!

Last week I hit the wall with my little apartment. All week I posted about needing to get out of here, needing space and my own bedroom. Abracadabra! The universe shows up with a two bedroom house for me. I'm already stretched then, I say, I can't afford increased rent and the cost of moving.

No problem, says the universe, you can have it for $45 bucks more than you're paying, no first, last and deposit. Just pay the rent and it's yours. Three blocks from a park, five blocks from great coffee, corner lot in a fun, funky part of town.

I could move in on my own and if I salvage the marriage, it's big enough for all of us. If not, I have a cute little house, albeit outdated and quirky, where me and my girls can spread out.