About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Pssst, can you spare me a newton?
Right now, the unemployment rate in the piss ass state of Connecticut is hovering at 9 percent. A loaf of whole wheat bread at the Mulletville Lite Stop & Shop is close to $4. Fig Newmans cost more than $4. And those lovely MorningStar Farms Chik Patties I used to rely upon as a last minute dinner are now $5 for four patties.
Connecticut’s gas prices are among the highest in the nation, topping the charts at about $4 a gallon. Our illustrious Governor Dannel P. Malloy, sworn into office in January, has increased the general sales tax from 6 percent to 6.35 percent. The sales tax exemptions that used to exist for clothing and shoes priced under $50 have vanished. Malloy has also increased the state income tax, effective August 1.
The best part of the tax is that it’s retroactive.
Our house in Mulletville is still on the market. It’s valued at close to $100,000 less than what we purchased it for in 2006.
Chuck’s been laid off since 2009. Since then he’s put himself through school, started a business, taken every freelance job that’s been offered to him and applied to countless jobs, but he still hasn’t been able to find a full-time career in his field.
Chuck and I have brought two children into this world. Beyond needing our love and guidance they need to eat. They need clothing. They need to see a doctor if they become ill. They need a roof over their heads.
I told a fib in one of my last posts. I wrote that I was going back to work in a few weeks, but the truth is that I started back yesterday. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about being back after being home with Junior and Diddlydoo for seven months; more importantly I wasn’t sure I would be ready to write about how I felt.
I knew from previous return-to-work experience that I would be assailed with nosy and insensitive questions (How does it feel to be back? Who is watching your children? How can you stand being separated from your kids?) but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to blog about it again.
If I felt sad about leaving Junior when I went back to work three years ago, wouldn’t I be twice as sad now?
The answer right now is yes and no. Yes I miss my boys but knowing that my children are safe, fed, clothed and have a bed to sleep in greatly outweighs any sadness I feel about not seeing them during the day. Knowing that they are at home with Chuck also greatly outweighs any sadness I feel about not seeing them during the day.
Chuck’s a damn good father who is going to be incredibly close to his sons. How could I possibly regret that?
So there it is: Until something changes—until we move out of this state, until I discover I have a rich, dead uncle after all, or until Malloy decides to institute a tax for sitting and I actually have to pay my employer so I can work—I’m back at my desk. I’m not going to belabor my points about the wretched state of the economy but for good measure I’ll say it again: At this time, I’m lucky to have a fucking job.
Even if it is working alongside a bunch of wackadoos.