Annus Horribilis

“2019 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of me, it has turned out to be an annus horribilis” Jodi Chromey ripping off Queen Elizabeth II who had a shitty 1992 when all her kids got divorced and her daughters-in-law were being royal pains in the old lady’s bum.

This is eventually going to be a post about self care. Also, I should warn you that I’m into week two of an epic bout of insomnia so I’m alternately belligerent and blubbery on a second-by-second basis.

Before I get to the self care, I have to say that 2019 has not been kind to my people. I am not lying or exaggerating for melodramatic or comedic effect when I say four of my people have been hospitalized at different times since January for suicide attempts and/or threats. The most recent occurrence happened two weeks ago and the repercussions are still reverberating throughout my life.

I am being intentionally vague because I feel like these are not my tales to tell. Because our country is hot trash when it comes to mental illness (and, well, virtually everything else too), I don’t feel comfortable naming names, some of which will be familiar to long-time readers of I Will Dare. I also feel weird not acknowledging that these huge, life-threatening events have happened and it’s only through luck, chance, and the strength of my people that I have not lost any of them.

So, yeah, it’s been a rough, shitty year. I know I’m not alone. I see it on twitter, and hear it from my friends, and every week at CSA Supperclub BFK and I give the double middle fingers to 2019 as it slowly oozes its way into history.

Because it’s been a rough, shitty year you hear and read a lot about self care. From giving into naps to multi-step skin care regimens to eating decadent homemade macaroni & cheese in your underpants while watching Bob’s Burgers (again). Self care seems to be the term we like to give whatever we feel like doing for ourselves, and I’m for it. Life is hard, do things that make you happy.

However, I feel like by labelling all the indulgent things self care we start to devalue the term. And I only say this because I’m a pompous jackass who legit did some self care this week.

What did I do? I opened up a SEP-IRA which is tax break and retirement thing for self-employed people I had never heard of until this week. I cannot explain it very well, but this Nerd Wallet post can.

I’m bad at money. A lot of that comes from fear of sounding stupid, shame for not having enough, and, well, ignorance. I grew up in poverty. You could fill an ocean with what I don’t know about money. And the tea-cup of stuff I do know was all learned the hard way through making stupid decisions and ignoring things.

So now I’ve really truly taken care of myself by opening this IRA. I still don’t expect to be able to retire ever, late stage capitalism being what it is, but at least I won’t get fucked as hard by Turnip’s tax plan this year as I did last year.

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