The answer: failing miserably.
My irresponsibility with money finally caught up to me this year. I suppose I should consider that a success of sorts. That it took eight years for my finances to get the better of me. But frankly, I don't and I shouldn't. After years of flitting from one low paying job to the next (sandwiched in between, of course, months of unemployment inspired by debilitating depression), after putting rent and groceries on credit cards for years and borrowing shamelessly from my everloving parents - I finally landed in a place where I could no longer support myself and had to move in with the parents.
Diana Wright's parents, that is.
Yes, friends. I am currently living in Los Angeles in a friend's parents' house. I cannot tell you how small and defeated I feel by this.
I should say, of course, that Diana Wright and her family are glorious saints who may have literally saved my life. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for the privilege of allowing me to live in their home. My first child should be named Diana Patricia Ned, not necessarily in that order and depending on the sex of the child. Folk songs should be written about these people. Towns should be named for their magnanimity and fine character. They should be treated like kings in the here and now and take their place among the gods on Mt. Olympus when they depart this world.
This does not change the fact that I feel like a fucking heel. A boob. A grade-A ding-dong, if you will.
Diana's also moving home in September. Here's the difference between her moving home and my moving into her home: 1) it's her home, 2) she's like 22 or 23, whereas I am 26, and 3) she's only doing it for a few months because she quit her job to go to Argentina for a while. Argentina! Her older brother Will is also staying home for a while. Here's the difference between him moving home and my moving into his home: 1) IT'S HIS HOME, 2) while he is Diana's older brother, unless I am mistaken, he is still a year younger than I am, and 3) it's only for two weeks, at which point he will then be moving to Berkeley for his very grown up, adult normal-person-having job. Whereas I am working as a temp and have no idea what I'll do when this assignment ends in the near future.
Jesus God in heaven - children, save your money, never use a credit card, and for God's sake, don't quit jobs until you know where the next one is coming from. My self-loathing right now is so thick it is like a pudding that could be eaten with a spoon and savored for its sweet comeuppance.