Shockingly few of the large blogs seem to have done the Financial Health Matters contest. Which means I have an actual shot at getting the most#FinHealthMatters Twitter engagement for my post.
The winner will get up to $1,500 of travel expenses reimbursed, which would be swell!
If I don’t win that, I still have a shot. Nine more people will be chosen based on the post they wrote. I think I’d have a chance that way.
But judges sometimes surprise you. (I still can’t believe/am irked that Frugalwoods lost last year in the Best Frugal Blog category — and I was up for the award too!) So I’d love to hedge my bets.
In other words, if you have a moment, I’d greatly appreciate you tweeting the following:
What Financial Health Means to Me http://ipickuppennies.net/2016/06/what-financial-health-means-to-me/ via @ ipickuppennies #FinHealthMatters
The hashtag is important or it doesn’t get noticed by the people counting the tweets.
And of course, thanks to everyone who has already done this for me. Not that another one would hurt…
Help me flog the book
It’s Plutus Awards nomination time, and I need nominations for Frugality for Depressives as the Best New Personal Finance book.
There are at least two other books that have come out that will likely beat me for the actual prize, but I just need to get it into the finalists. If I do, the name will be read out loud at a ceremony with around 200 people present.
So please consider clicking this link and entering Frugality for Depressives in the Best Personal Finance Book category. (And hey, if you’re overcome with the desire to enter I Pick Up Pennies for best frugality blog… Well, I can’t stop you.)
So far, so good. I was down to 179… for a day. Then I was retaining a little water and back up to 181. I figured I’d settle back down after I got the sodium out of my system.
But a four days later I’m still at 180. I’ve been sticking to my diet and exercising regularly. And the pants I put on last Wednesday fit better than they did that day.
So I guess I just gained some muscle. Which is fine. More muscle = more calories burned in a given day. But if I’m still putting muscle back on… Then I’ve got more than the 10 lbs I thought I had to lose.
But oh well, can’t be helped. I’ll get there. And in another three or four pounds my old clothes will fit comfortably again, which will help my disposition.
Thanks to everyone for your kind words after my rant about his appeal’s denial. I think it helped him feel a little better to know you guys out there were frustrated/indignant/pissed on his behalf.
Unfortunately, he’s still having a pretty bad time of things. The depression was pretty bad the day that we got the letter (even before it came) and it was, not surprisingly, even worse the next day. I’m a bit worried, so I’m going to his next therapy appointment to kind of check in with his therapist about my concerns.
Don’t get me wrong: He’s not a threat to himself at the moment. But he’s having dark thoughts — and I know what that’s like. I’ve been there.
It was 2004, and I was having to apply for disability. Mom, herself just out of an abusive marriage and rather frayed at the ends, was supporting both of us on what savings she had — which were dwindling fast. She got a temporary gig up in Anchorage, so she flew up there to get some real money.
I was left alone with my thoughts. My bleak, painful, exhausted thoughts.
It’s this weird dichotomy. You’re not really going to kill yourself. But there’s this alluring thought that flits around the edges of your brain that at least the pain and misery would be over. That the people in your life — the ones you’re wrongly convinced you’re a drain on — would be sad at first, sure, but then ultimately relieved.
While I hate that he has to go through this, at least I know to stress very, very hard that I would not deep down be relieved. And that I have no interest in being a widow, no matter how slimming black is.
Still, it’s a struggle.
He doesn’t like to talk about it because… Well, first of all it’s admitting to weakness and even women hate doing that. Add in the BS macho stuff guys grow up with and… eesh.
He’s also worried about upsetting me. He hears all the time how stressed and exhausted I am. I’m trying to get through to him that I always need to know his mental state, no matter how much I’m juggling. That factor will always take precedence.
Unfortunately, there’s no much to be done when you have bad days except crawl through them while every minute seems to last an hour. We’ve focused on keeping noise in the house any time he’s awake. Bad thoughts leak in when things are silent.
Today, which will be yesterday for you guys, our friend is having a birthday/4th of July party. So I’m going to drive and let him get as hammered as his little heart/burdened brain desires. Hopefully, socializing will do him some good.
How have you guys been doing? How was your 4th of July? Anyone want to kick the SSA in the shins for us?