by Spike Gillespie If I told you how much money I made last year, you'd probably hurl spit in my virtual direction. If I told you how much I have left, that same mouth you just used to spit on me would drop open in disbelief. Of course, it's not polite to discuss actual figures. So let's work on a hypothetical model. Let's say that last year I grossed $100. And my current bank balance? Uh... would you believe ten cents? See, I suck with money. I would love to get all defensive (as I did just this morning with my bank officer) and offer some but, but, buts here. (But I had surgery twice last year. But I had exorbitant legal fees. But my insurance is obscenely expensive. And I moved. Three times.) And, and, and. But, but, but....

See, I suck with money.

That's me, always with a big but to stick out and make excuses. Bottom line though, is that I just never got a grip on my finances. I'm sure I'll be labeled as a big blamer if I say I'm just practicing the spending habits my parents taught me. I take my chances. Take my mother. On her fiftieth birthday, I asked, "What profound advice can you offer me on this big day?" "Honey," she answered, "when I was 20, I used to walk into Sears and look wistfully at the dresses. And I thought, 'One day I'll be able to walk in here and buy any two off the rack and not even think about the price. And I'll pay cash.'" She paused. I waited. "But that day hasn't come yet. So I say, if you really want something, find a way to get it. Charge it or something."

Years before that, the spend-it-all seeds were planted by my father. He didn't make much and what he did make barely stretched to cover the needs of our family of eleven. Still, every Friday, before handing over the remainder to my mother for budgeting, he was sure to go out, buy her flowers and us kids a stack of new 45s. And so I have followed in their footsteps. Each check I get, first I buy my son a treat or two or three. Then, I make a big dinner for a bunch of friends. On the rare occasion there is room on one of my credit cards, I make like Betty and Wilma, race out the door and shout, "Charrrrrrrge it!!!" Not that I have exquisite taste — my house is done in mostly donated furniture. I don't go on clothes binges. But when I do splurge, I splurge big. Unfortunately, unlike some women, I can't settle for a shoe fetish. A new computer is more apt to soothe me. (I have three.) Or a vacation (debt is so much easier to relax about beachside, agreed?)

The spend-it-all seeds were planted by my father.

What's left I hurl in the general direction of the wolves, close my eyes, hope for the best, and say, "I'm sorry, she's not here right now," when creditors call demanding more. The debt I've amassed, debt to the tune of $15,000 (oops, I used a real figure), causes more financially savvy friends to wince at my stunning ability to mismanage money. No one can believe I'm still paying my college loan off, though I graduated 13 years ago. Don't I realize the interest on this loan and my credit cards is going to mean I'll pay far more than I could have, had I been more frugal? Yes, yes, yes, I say. And really, I will get a grip one of these days. But, I add, defensively, these days not all of my spending is superflous. Raising a kid on one income, paying for health insurance, life insurance, car insurance — things I didn't have not so long ago — all take a sizeable bite out of my income. Sure, I could cut back on the weekly dinner parties. No, I don't suppose it's crucial to take my child to historical places, zoos, and parades all over the country. But (again with the buts...) I've managed to make it this far, and all these "extras" make us rich, if not wealthy.

It's highly doubtful I'll ever own a new car, or have credit stable enough to qualify me for a mortgage. I don't care. While some hold that the more you make, the more you spend, I say the more I spend, the more I make. Sometimes I think this is a disease specific to my chosen profession: artist. Another writer I know once pointed to a huge new TV purchased earlier in the day, declaring, "I had to buy it. I had to spend my money so I'd be inspired to make more. If I have money in the bank, I get lazy." This, I understand completely. I figure, the best I can hope for is to keep making more, more, more. Not to stash it away, mind you. To have more fun. To support more worthy causes. To remind myself I am at least capable of bringing in the big bucks, if not hanging onto them. This year, I'm going to make $150, I swear I am, and I'm going to save at least three cents. I'll figure out how, just as soon as I get back from my trip to the coast. Spike Gillespie has already blown her paycheck for this article. © 1998 Tripod, Inc. All Rights Reserved