Working, working, working

    I stared bleary eyed at the highway stretching out before me. The burgeoning traffic hummed along at well above the posted limit of 60 mph.  It was Monday and I was exhausted, driving to work yet again after working the weekend. 

    Some days it seemed I worked all the time.  I recalled the "days off" I had over the past week.         

    Wednesday I got up early for an appointment and returned straight home.  I had promised a friend I would "rest" for the remainder of the day. Trying to rest proved to be torture. I had to will myself to sit still for more than 10 minutes.  I kept thinking of things I needed to accomplish around the house: I had packing to do, laundry, cleaning, the car needed a wash and vacuum, the list went on and on.  

     My boss texted me. I could work Thursday if I wanted. I sighed before saying no. I needed to take the car for needed maintenance. I needed to start packing.  I could do those things today and work tomorrow, but.. oh yes.....I had promised to rest. 

     Ugh! Why was this so hard!  I feel constant fatigue, body aches and headaches, yet I can't be still. To not work makes me feel guilty and anxious. Could it be I am a workaholic?
   Cnn.com posted the following quiz by Brian E. Robinson under the heading "Are you a Workaholic?"

I prefer to do most things rather than ask for help. Always

I get impatient when I have to wait for someone else or when something takes too long. Always

I always seem to be in a hurry and racing against the clock. Always

I get irritated when I am interrupted while I am in the middle of something. Often

I stay busy and keep many irons in the fire. Often

I find myself doing two or three things at one time, such as eating lunch and writing a memo while talking on the phone. Often

I over commit myself by biting off more than I can chew. Often

I dive into projects to get a head start before all the phases have been finalized. Often

I feel guilty when I am not working on something. Always

It's important that I see the concrete results of what I do. Always

I am more interested in the final result of my work than in the process. Always

Things just never seem to move fast enough or get done fast enough for me. Always

I lose my temper when things don't go my way or work out to suit me. Often

I ask the same question over again after I've already been given the answer once. Sometimes

I spend a lot of time mentally planning and thinking about future events while tuning out the here and now. Sometimes

I find myself continuing to work after my coworkers have called it quits. Sometimes

I get angry when people don't meet my standards of perfection. Often

I get upset when I am in situations where I cannot be in control. Often

I spend more time working than socializing with friends or on hobbies or leisure activities. Always

I tend to put myself under pressure from self-imposed deadlines when I work. Always

It is hard for me to relax when I'm not working. Always
I get upset with myself for making even the smallest mistake. Always

I put more thought, time and energy into my work than I do my relationships with loved ones and friends. Always

I forget, ignore or minimize celebrations such as birthdays, reunions, anniversaries or holidays.  Always

     A result between 67 and 100 points was considered highly workaholic. My score stood at 83.
  Highly workaholic? Small wonder I'm exhausted and demoralized. I'm fighting burnout already.

    How completely miserable I must be to deal with. My poor friends, my poor animals...poor me. I have no time for the things I love: piano, cooking, my friends, my animals, learning to play golf again. It was just a miserable cycle of working and sleeping.  Any leisure time at all is on a "strict schedule" so everything gets done.
  How do I stop?
  In the article "How to Stop Being a Workaholic" for wikihow edited by Daud Darseno, workaholics are encouraged to draw boundaries by limiting the amount of work (i.e. taking days off).
   "Limit the amount of time you spend working. Set aside one day of the week, such as Sunday, as a day of rest. Be strict with yourself in not working on that day. If the computer is your main work tool, try not to use the computer at all on your rest day. Set office hours for yourself, outside of which you don't allow yourself to work. For example, no work before 8 a.m. or after 7 p.m." 
  The hallmark of workaholism (perfectionism) is addressed.
   "When appropriate, limit the quality of work you aim to achieve. Don't always aim for super high quality work when it isn't necessary to achieve the purpose of the work. As Chesterton said, “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” Especially if that frees up time to do something else even more worthwhile." 

  Hmmm, doing a decent job versus a perfect job. Taking a whole day off? How could I ever live with the guilt of doing that?
  Additionally, suffers are encouraged to change perspective.
  "Make it a habit to periodically ask yourself, throughout the day, 'If I died in my sleep tonight, would I be happy with the way I spent my day?' "
  I considered my reality. I was dealing with a chronic illness. I suffered with significant pain in my jaw (bruxism) and neck (tension).  The constant angst of "getting everything done" made me tense and irritable. I hadn't talked to my brother in while. I hadn't walked Pansy  or seen my friends in two weeks. I was too busy to date, sleep in or even go to the doctor if necessary. Was this the life I wanted?
  The next dawned beautifully.  I lay watching the light play through the blinds. This was my day off. It was time to try something different, however agonizing and awkward it may be. As my Pathways training had challenged me: What did I really want? How would it be to be able to rest, to be emotionally tranquil?

    I squinted at the fine layer of dust sprinkled on my dresser. The  meticulous sweeper marks on the bedroom carpet had been erased by footprints. There was laundry in the dryer, needing to be folded and put away. The car still hadn't been cleaned.
    Pansy rolled over in her bed as I approached, begging for a tummy rub. I bent down and petted her a while, listening as she snorted happily.  It was a relief to not be rushed, to just enjoy the moment. 
  In Disney's "Frozen", Elsa leads a miserable life, seeking to be as others expect while hiding her true self.  Revealed, a liberated Elsa sings "Let it Go", embracing her once secret powers, finding at last a strength and happiness she never knew.

Savin' or Scroogin'?

   "Oh! But he was a tightfisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out a generous fire: secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster." ~ A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

    Dickens' immortal tale of Ebeneezer Scrooge, he of cruel avarice and glorious re-birth into the warmth of friendship and generosity, has thrilled generations.  Due to his covetous accumulation of wealth, Mr Scrooge had money to give.  Where is the line between being frugal and being cheap in the face of retiring debt and necessary savings?
   I'm staring down the barrel of turning 36 in less than two months.  I have stashed money into a 401K since age 22. Late last year, I sat down with a financial advisor from Edward Jones, to take stock of where I am and where I want to be in another 30 years.
   The news was good....and bad. For someone my age (the responsible, upstanding Generation X), I've accumulated a significant amount. Looking at where I want to be (worth $2.5-3 million by age 65), I'm a bit behind.
   Couple that with impending law school tuition and the debt I'm still trying to overcome. Yep! Money is tight.
   Financially, I'm working it out.  I'm on a budget and executing a stepwise plan to retire the debt and put aside money for school.
   As far as retirement, my budget includes diversion to a 401K, Roth IRA, and cash savings.  Does that mean I'm now a miser, or need to become one? Oh dear!
  In showing my home, I realized that while I absolutely adore my pink dining room, other people probably do not. I decided to repaint. 
  I bought quality paint, and after taping off the edges, got to work. Suddenly, I had the bright idea to add water to my paint.  After all, I wasn't going to live here. What did it matter if it was a bit patchy? A softer neutral on the living room walls would be nice. Then I could paint two rooms-for the price of one!
  Bad idea. The added water made the paint incredibly runny, leaving me to quickly wipe up the copious drips and splatters. Preliminary results? The pink was bleeding through badly. The watered down paint looked like Desitin smeared on a bad diaper rash.
  I quickly changed course, covering the walls with full strength paint. It looked lovely, even if it was now beige. The pink underneath was not apparent.
  I had opted to paint the room myself and used Behr paint (best paint for the money per Consumer Reports). That was frugal.  Adding water to thin and stretch the paint was cheap!
  In her article for MSN Money, "When Frugality Goes Too Far", Donna Freedman expounds upon the difference between frugal and cheap.
   "Cheapness is clinging to every cent. Frugality is spending money in the smartest possible ways...Cutting your food bill might be frugal, if you choose the right foods. Eating nothing but oatmeal and ramen would be cheap - and counterproductive since your health could suffer." 
   This month I have had some unexpected expenses (what month doesn't). I needed to buy things for the house and I needed more money for gas. I accidentally went over my data limit on my iPhone: the bill was $10 higher than I had planned. Eddie's special food was unavailable in the $20 4-pound bags. I had to buy a 17-pound bag for $60.
  At moments like this, I wonder if I have failed. Can I really make my budget work? Or am I destined to only be "stupid" with money?  I am relying on money I will make this month to carry me through August. I respond thus, covetously clinging to every cent. I will put off filling prescriptions that I need, refuse to go to the doctor if I'm sick or work an unhealthy schedule (21 days straight). Wow! Great plan, huh?
  Freedman also emphasized the importance of self care.
   "Some people skip health insurance to save money. Really bad idea. Regular dental and medical exams can catch small problems before they turn into serious problems, or fatal ones."
  Like my splatters and "diaper-rash" paint job, I am only creating more issues. A bump in the road and I'm panicking.  Inside my head I hear screaming: you'll deplete your savings! You'll have to use your cards again! You'll never have money for school! No one wants to lease your house! Just quit now, you're going to end up homeless!   I become frantic, trying to "fix it" by not letting go of a red cent.
  What on earth? Not two years ago I was splurging myself out of house and home. Now I had developed a fear of spending?
  In an article for Mint.com, "What Does Fear of Spending Really Mean?", Kelly Anderson delves into chrometophobia: an irrational fear of money.
  A fear of money can take many forms, but what it usually boils down to is this: an unwillingness to face the facts when it comes to spending and saving habits...why people worry about spending their money is that they fear they will spend so much, they won't have money to pay for the things they really need."
      Anderson recommends overcoming a fear of spending money by viewing smart or necessary transactions as celebrations of hard work.
   A celebration of hard work, huh? Now that was an interesting angle.
   A little over a year ago I could barely make the minimum payments on my unsecured debt. I had knuckled under, worked some exhausting hours and maintained a spartan budget. My credit scores were climbing, enabling me to consolidate both my credit cards and student loans. Everything was neatly being paid off in seven years. I was saving again.
  After working hard as a graduate nurse practitioner, my resume and recommendations had landed me a job with a generous salary and benefits, right?
  I was purchasing things I needed.  The money was in the account, I wasn't charging the plastic. That was worth celebrating! Not with a $60 bottle of ice-wine but maybe with a pat on the back.
  My realtor texted me. A potential tenant was interested in my home.
  "Steady as she goes, girlfriend!" I told myself. "It'll be alright. The wind is high, but it's pushing the sails."

She did it! Why can't I?

   In her book, "Confessions of a Scholarship Winner", Kristina Ellis details her journey to earning $500,000 in Scholarship money. She encouraged her readers to view the application process as a job.
   'I like to paint a picture for students, explaining that rather than having to work their way through college making minimum wage, they could spend five hours working on a scholarship application, and if they win $2,500, it’s the equivalent of making $500 per hour!'  
   A job, huh? I wonder what I could earn if I treated earning scholarships as a part-time job? I began to do some research, downloading scholarship apps to my phone. Some I did not qualify for yet, needing to actually be enrolled in school. 
 ScholarshipExpert.com detailed several awards for $1500-5000.  The topics were whimsical and lighthearted.  I hesitated, as the brutal self-criticism started again. Could I really do this? Or would I feel incredibly stupid and rejected when I didn't win? Can I really write well, or are people just being polite when they tell me that? Would the panel laugh at my essay? 
  Oh come off it, already! What did I have to lose? I wasn't going to be publically shamed for trying, while I stood to gain a nice chunk of cash towards my tuition balance. 
    I picked two scholarships from the website, with an awards of $1500 and $1000. "Flavor of the Month" Scholarship required written response (250 words or less) about what ice cream flavor the applicant would be and why. Me as an ice cream flavor? I have been many things, but never ice cream.
 The other, "Make me Laugh" asked for an embarrassing (but hilarious) story. Hmmm. I've had plenty of those.

"Flavor of the Month"

  Fortune teller: "What answers do you seek, my child?"

  Me: "I need to know what flavor of ice cream I am."

  Fortune teller: "No, you want the $1500 scholarship. But since you've already paid....You're a 35 year old chic with a mortgage and a job. You sleep every night with a cat on your head. Sounds fairly ordinary. You're vanilla."

   Me: "But I'm six feet tall and love stilettos."

  Fortune teller: "Yes and they are giving you bunions. But you like intimidating men with your height. Hmmm. Toss in some cocoa powder and make it chocolate. 

  Me: "Does the fact that I'm a veteran count?"

  Fortune teller: Well, you have a bit of toughness, even though you whine about your crow’s feet. You've dyed your hair dark to feel mysterious. I guess we should add some chocolate chips."

  Me: "I love animals."

  Fortune teller: "You stopped traffic on I-35 to rescue two abandoned kittens. You're heart isn't just soft, it's squishy!  Plenty of marshmallows are in order." 

  Me: "Double chocolate chip marshmallow? That's...um... not exactly a flavor."

  Fortune Teller: "You drive way too fast, run in the midday Texas heat and talk to yourself incessantly. That's nuts! You, my dear, are rocky road!"


 "Make me Laugh"

    After my sister's wedding I retuned to the home of one of the bridesmaids and got ready for bed. Outside, I could hear the neighbors chatting in the cool October evening. I showered, toweling off in front of a full length mirror beside the sink. I had recently lost 15 pounds. I turned this way and that, admiring the results.   
   The next morning, I greeted my host as I stepped, bleary-eyed, into the bathroom.
   "Hey! What happened to the mirror beside the sink?"
   She laughed. "That's a window. It has a special UV shield that makes it look reflective at night."
   Oops!

Well, what do you know! Detailing my goofy eccentrities could net me 2500 bucks!

To Sell or Donate?

     I stared at my kitchen table.  I had always liked it. A combination of wood and wrought iron with a glass top, it was the focal point. I also loved the table and chairs in my formal dining room. A pink marble table top with wrought iron chairs, I had offset it with soft pink walls and a 42" x 30" painting of my own creation. All of this would have to "go", along with various other things - I just wouldn't have room where I was going to live.
     I took stock of what was in my closets and drawers. So many things: books, clothing, knick-knacks.  If I kept them, I would have to pay to move them.  I would be jamming what nicely fit in 2000 sq ft into just under 700.... and I HATE clutter.
     I debated selling the furniture. What could I actually get for it? Not really all that much. My ad on Craig's List for the marble dinette set had brought no offers. There was considerable competition.
     My friend Natalie, a college student, wanted some of what was in the guest room, along with a chair and table.
     "Just take it." I said. "I want to see it put to good use."
      With that, I decided to donate the larger items: two dinette sets, a computer armoire, a sleeper sofa and canopy queen bed. I briefly researched what I would need to claim a tax deduction legally. As my total donation would be over $2500, an itemized list (IRS Form 8283) was required. The total from Form 8283 would then be recorded on IRS Form 1040 Schedule A.
      I debated to whom I should donate: Goodwill, The Salvation Army? Both are excellent charities but the Salvation Army would come and pick-up my things. Bingo!
     I also had a closet full of military uniforms ( I was discharged from the Air Force in March), evening gowns and beauty pageant crowns. Perhaps a theater department?
     Chloe, also a college student, was involved with her school's theater department. I texted her, asking if the department was looking for donations to the "theater closet". She responded quickly that her contact would be thrilled to receive my things.
     "They are doing a production of 'Carrie'. They really could use the crowns and dresses right away."
     "If I give you a receipt, could you have them sign it? Then I can deduct what I donate from my taxes."
     "Sure!"
    I typed up a list with estimated  values.  The total came to $1000. Wow! Combined with the other items, I 'd be donating close to $5000. That meant at my current tax rate of 28%, I would "make" $1400 while my old things (many worn only once) would be used and enjoyed.
     I began to think long and hard about my art work. It needed to go too. But where? From my days in nursing school, I remembered clinicals in day-treatment facilities and clinics run by the state or non-profit organizations. I recalled the art displays, often donated by local artists.  It added a soothing touch to an otherwise sterile environment. I researched various organizations before calling Tarrant County MHMR. Would they want my artwork?
     I spoke with Melanie. She was kind and grateful, thanking me for my offer.
     "The frames will all be included.' I said. "I'll send you some pictures and measurements. If you can't use any, that's completely fine."
     "I will forward them to the manager of one of my clinics."
     A few days later she responded. The clinic manager wanted all my paintings. Really? Someone actually liked my art? I had feared I would be mocked and considered just throwing them away. Instead, my creations would brighten where people came for help.
     Yes, this would also serve as a tax deduction, but it meant much more. Each had been a labor of love to create, but I never thought anyone else could possibly want them.
     I had grown up in a house of unspeakable secrets, taught from my earliest rememberance to present a flawless image. This had extended to the artwork I had produced. Invariable, my "masterpieces", just like myself, could never be "good enough". There was always an imperfection to be obsessed over. The creative impulse withered beneath the blistering scrutiny. For a while I ceased producing, keeping hidden what I did not destroy. Better to never be seen than viewed as imperfect, right?
    Among American artists, the work of Norman Rockwell is widely recognized.  In his lifetime, Rockwall created over 4,000 distinctive, heartwarming paintings of Americans engaging in everyday life. Look closely at the image below: People Reading Stock Exchange by Rockwell circa 1930.

   Do you see it? The kid in the red shirt has three legs.  Does this mistake make it unsuitable for public display? I think not. It is still a masterpiece with whimsical charm. The flaw only serves to make the painting more fascinating and memorable. We are reminded that even great artists are human too, each full of beauty and greatness that shines through the flaws and frailties.
    I am still fragile.  I still fear being hurt. I still batter myself with brutal criticism. I have only recently unlocked the door to my heart, sharing my love that, like my paintings, I hid for so long. I'm still amazed that people accept me and return my affection, filling the aching void with the warmth of friendship.

"Now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." I Corinthians 13:13 (NKJV)

T'was the night before listing......

I began to pace, running things over in my mind. Most of my friends were asleep by now.  I consulted Mr. Google concerning "Ft Worth Air Conditioning" and found A #1 Air, providing 24/7 service in the Metroplex. I dialed the number and an attendant promptly answered. I blurted out my predicament, ending with a desperate "what could be wrong with it?!"
  "I'm sorry Ma'am. I'm not a technician.  Let me get you scheduled tonight." He paused. "Looks like it will be between midnight and 2 am. Will that be ok?"
  "Yeah, sure. Thanks. I appreciate it!" I hung up and assessed my situation. 
  I had a technician coming.  I was also working tomorrow and needed to drop off Eddie and re-vacuum before leaving for the clinic. My alarm was set for 6AM. I wanted to call in.  I had worked for nearly three weeks straight, with only three days off. Oneof those days I had taken my LSAT; the other two I had spent working long hours to prepare the house. 
   I looked at my thermostat again.  Fixing central air has rarely been described as "cheap". My budget was already tight. My years as a military officer had taught me that adequate sleep was a luxury in the face of operational necessity. I would just have to deal with it. 
   I shifted restlessly in the darkness.  I only had $1000 in savings. Was that enough for a repair? What if I needed a new system? Would they let me finance it? My eyes burned as I squinted into the glare of my iphone.  
  Eddie purred, pushing his head onto my chest. I stroked him absent-mindedly. What could I do? I closed my eyes, succumbing to the fatigue.
  My phone was ringing. It was almost 1am. The technician was here. Sleep-drunk, I showed him the vents, outdoor unit and attic.
  "I'll be in the bedroom on the left, if you need me." 
  "Ok. I'll check it out then come find you."  I returned to the comfort of my bed, dozing as I heard his footsteps beside my window and then above in the attic.
  "Ma'am?"
  "Yep." I sat up, staring into the hallway.
  "You have a coil leak."
  "Ok. Uhhh. What do we need to do? Can you replace the coil tonight?" I was ignorant of HVAC system components.
  "No ma'am. That's a job that requires welding. It takes several hours and generally runs around $3000. How old is your system?"
   "9 years. It's the one the builder put in."
   "Those are generally cheaper systems. They only last 5-8 years, with regular maintenance."
   "Maintenance?"  My system maintenance had consisted of filter changes very 3-4 months. Born and raised in Western New York, I was completely naive to the needs of an HVAC system in Texas.
   "Yes ma'am, biannual cleaning and inspection."  He continued. "With the age of your system, its probably not worth repairing a component like that. Your better off with a new system."
   "What do they run?"
   "Depends on what you want. $6-7000 on average. I can set you up with a sales rep tomorrow evening" I hung my head. Had I eaten too much chocolate before bed again? Perhaps this was just a bad dream. 
   "Is there anything you can do to give me air tonight?" He added three pounds of freon (which cost me  $200) and scheduled a sales appointment for 8pm.
    What seemed only minutes later, I heard my phone jangle. It was time to get up. 
   C'mon girl, You've been through worse. I remembered my Air Force survival training. After days of little sleep and even less food, my companions and I needed to "evade" the pursuant cadre while trying to reach "friendly territory". Filthy and exhausted, we had been among the first to arrive, navigating successfully (and surrepticiosly) by map and compass. 
     I dressed and deposited Eddie in my neighbor's upstairs bathroom. My thermostat stood at a comfortable 72 degrees. I quickly vacuumed and opened the blinds before leaving. 
     At work, my tiredness threatened to consume me. I drank a Monster, exchanging somnolence for a jittery twitch. The clinic was slow as the day seemed to drag intermidably. There were no showings.
     I had resigned myself that I needed an new HVAC system. The technician had mentioned financing was available. What would my interest and payments be? How far back into the swirling vortex of debt would I be pushed? How much time would it take to install? Three days? A week?
     My neighbor texted me that Eddie has escaped the bathroom, taking up a defensive position in a nearby bedroom. 
     On my way home, my phone rang. The sales rep was on his way.  
     I hurried to retrieve Eddie, finding him wedged in a tight corner. Terrified, he growled and hissed, biting me on the hand as I crated him. I released him to the safety of my living room and scrambled to put away my work things. 
    My inside temp was 79 degrees. I could hear the outdoor unit stopping and starting in rapid succession. My $200 had bought me a day of AC and no one had come to see my house!  I just wanted to cry! Was I being a fool to pursue this dream? 
     There was a soft knock at that door. Just over an hour later, I had bought a Lennox 13 SEER 4 ton HVAC system with a 10-year warranty.  Installation was tomorrow. I was also $6500 dollars poorer, paying it back over 84 months at 5.99% interest (fixed). 
     Financial planners advise having three to six months of income in ready cash savings.  That kind of umbrella keeps you from getting soaked in sudden rain. I would be there one day, but for now I had weathered the current storm. 
     "If birds can glide for long periods of time, why can't I?" Orville Wright pondered. In 1903, two bicycle salesmen invested $1000 ($26,000 today) to build Flyer I. After four brief but successful flights, a sudden gust of wind damaged the plane beyond repair. Orville and his brother Wilber built another, pursuing their dream of what many said was impossible. 

If you find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere- Frank A.Clark


LSAT Score update: 163 (88th percentile). I am very happy with this. Did I hope for better? Of course! This, however,is what I need to be admitted to my school of choice, likely with a bit of scholarship help. 

Becoming a Landlord

    I pondered how to rent my home.  What if no one wanted it? Could I trust a tenant to treat my house with respect? What in the house needed to be fixed or updated? Could I collect enough for rent to cover my 15-year mortgage? 
    I turned these questions over in my mind as I walked Pansy one Saturday afternoon. She begged petting from a neighbor I hadn't met before as he and I struck up a conversation. I noticed he was selling his home. 
   "How is the real estate market around here? I'm looking into leasing out my house." 
   Robert smiled. "I've rented out various homes in this area for several years. The market is great right now. List it. It'll go." 
   He gave me the name of his real estate agent.  I asked about handling home repairs and maintenance. 
   "Who do they call? Me? The management company?"
   "I use American Home Shield." He said. "They will come and repair the appliances, AC, plumbing,ect. If it can't be fixed, they will replace it. All for a monthly fee." He gave me his contact info, telling me to call him with any questions.Good dog, Pansy! Thanks for the intro!
   I was swamped with LSAT prep at the time.  I decided to wait until after the test before plunging into becoming a landlord. Mentally, I began to take note of what I had to do: the quarter round in the master closet needed painting, the outdoor caulk required a re-do in spots, the carpets begged a professional cleaning. 
   I began to look for an apartment to rent.  I needed something close to my new job (starting in July) and also accessible to school.  I wanted a clean, safe rental but needed to stay under $800/mo.  I looked for one with a sliding glass door that could easily fit a dog door-Pansy would be learning to use a "doggy patch". 
   I evaluated my furniture. Some of it would have to be sold or donated to charity. I wouldn't have room and paying for a storage locker was impractical.  My stuff just wasn't worth that much to justify the expense.  
   June 11th, I called Carol, the agent Robert had recommended. She reassured me that the rent market was "hot".
   "Make your house available before school.  Families want to be settled by then." 
  Before school? Oh my! I needed to find a place to live.  I called an apartment complex in Hurst  that i had scouted via the Internet. They had a second-floor one bedroom (with the required patio door) available August 15.  I quickly applied and put down a deposit.  I then scheduled with Apple Movers. Then I rang Carol back.
   "House will be available August 16." 
   "Awesome!" 
  I sat blinking, my mind running furiously.  What was this going to cost? I had been averaging over 50 hours per week. July's income was going to be healthy. August was a different story: I would be switching to monthyly paychecks then. My emergency fund stood intrepidly at $1000. Would I be able to make it? 
   July's budget stood at $5413, August at $4,600.48.  Additional expenses included:

       Apartment deposit and application fees: $315
       Carpet cleaning and deodorizing : $257.64
       Moving: $600
       Pro-rated rent for August and 1/2 pet fees: $787.00
  I was expecting about $12,329.9 in income.  I could do it, if I was careful. 
  I had been planning to start showing the weekend of July 12. I had begun the necessary tasks as I could: weeding beds, trimming trees and bushes, paint touch-ups. I scoped out my competition, noting how long each home had been listed. Perhaps that wasn't enough time. I consulted Carol's assistant, Danielle. 
  "The sooner the better," she said.
 "Ok, let's start Thursday." It was Tuesday, June 24.
 I made some quick phone calls. Eddie and Pansy needed to be out of the house. Noel could dog-sit, while my neighbor Laura, would keep Eddie during the day. 
 After work I rushed home to furiously clean and straighten.  I needed to conceal any evidence of pets. In a large suitcase, I collected bowls, toys and treats.
 On Wednesday, my day off, I had an appointment to see the apartment I had leased.  It was nice, but smaller than I had imaged. More things would need to be sold or donated. 
 I rushed back home to pick-up dog poop in the yard, vacuum the sofa, scrub and deodorize carpet stains and re-apply gloss sealer to the painted concrete.
  I washed, folded and tucked five loads of laundry out of sight. I straightened cabinets and swept the garage. I put out fresh-cut flowers and a bowl of candy with a note thanking perspective tenants. I surveyed the house. It was beautiful, completely immaculate.
 Normally I keep my house warm. I decided to cool things to a pleasant 72 degrees. Two hours after I lowered the thermostat, the temperature stood at 80 degrees. I checked the vents and my outdoor AC unit. Air was blowing but it wasn't cold. 
 It was 10 pm. My HVAC system had just RSVP'd it's deepest regrets to my listing party. 

Debt: A dream killer? Part 2

   I sat running the numbers.  Part-time tuition at Texas A&M School of Law was approximately $25,000 per year.  I would complete the degree in four years for an estimated $100,000.  The GI Bill would cover 40%, leaving me with around $60,000 in addition to books and living expenses. What did that break down to in a monthly budget? 

  Suppose I started school in August 2015, graduating in May 2019.  Since all money had to be paid by graduation, I had 58 months starting June 2014.  That broke down to around $1050 per month.  I had whittled my monthly budget to around $5,500.  That, however, was only making the minimum payments on my pesky credit cards.  I certainly didn't want to maintain my current debt for five years.
   I contacted my bank, USAA Federal Savings.  I had started using USAA during my time in the Air Force. Founded by and designed for military people, I have found them accommodating.
   I inquired about a personal loan to consolidate my credit card balances.  The three credit cards I still had were through USAA.  I explained what I needed, fully expecting to be turned down. Instead I was approved: $30,000, 7.5% interest, seven year term. For the lowest APR, I needed to purchase payment insurance (dropped my interest rate from 8.25 to 7.5%).  My biweekly payment was $243 ($526.50 monthly average).  I had been paying about $720/month in pure interest.
   I turned to my student loans. 

   The Wells Fargo Loan had ballooned with interest(post graduation) from $10,000 to $11,200.  With steady payments, I stood at 10,800 with 11% interest.  

   The Discover student loan stood at $8,486.88 with 10% interest.  I ran the debt calculator to find the necessary payment to eliminate both in 74 months.  Wells Fargo required a payment of $205, while Discover needed $155.00. Eliminating debt in seven years was longer than the five years (or less) I had originally hoped for. My monthly debt payments stood at $886.50.  That number burned me.  So close to what I needed, but it was going to pay for my foolishness. Perhaps I could get a scholarship.
   To be competitive for a law school merit scholarship, good grades and an excellent LSAT score are necessary. My grade point averages, undergraduate and graduate, stood at 3.94 and 3.48, respectively. Back in 2001, I had taken the LSAT on a whim, with little prep, scoring a 158 (77th percentile).  To qualify for at least a partial scholarship from a fourth tier law school (Texas A&M is currently ranked as fourth tier), I would need an LSAT score in the 160's.  

   I began to prepare and decided I needed a bit of extra help.  I looked at my options. Kaplan's LSAT test prep with a one-on-one tutor started at $2600.  PowerScore and Testmasters offered private LSAT telephone tutoring for around $100/hr. I wanted to know expressly who I would be working with, what their qualifications were.  Plus, I honestly couldn't afford $100/hr must less $2600.  

   I found one site, LSAT-Tutoring.com. Peg Tittle, the tutor, had once written LSAT questions. She had taught extensively and authored a book,"Critical Thinking: An Appeal To Reason", that was used in college level courses both in the United States and Canada.  Tutoring rates started at $75/hr, or $60/hr if the student committed to 10+ hours. I decided she was worth a try.
   With Peg, I made significant progress, understanding the test better, gaining speed and accuracy.  As test day neared, I took several timed practice tests, scoring an average of 165 (92nd percentile)  Aside from the general test angst, my LSAT went well.
   With score release in early July, I totaled up what I would needed per month during the school year.  Even with a scholarship it would be difficult to make bills. Expenses had to come down significantly. The largest among them was my mortgage. Should I sell my home? I hated losing the equity that I had in it. What about leasing?
   If I leased my home now, I could put back the extra money for school.  I would then have a bit of a cushion. In the event I was awarded a scholarship, I would need to maintain a certain GPA (usually 3.0+) to keep it.  During the term, if I could hold monthly expenses to $3,000, I would only have to work about 80hrs per month. This option showed promise.  So how does one lease out a home? 

Debt: A dream killer? Part 1

 After one of my patients suffered a bad medication reaction, I was brought before my hospital's nursing peer review board.  I had struggled to manage two difficult ICU patients that night. My charting had been lacking, to put it mildly.   
  The nursing peer review process is simply that, review by your nursing peers.  I was required to appear and explain my actions. After hearing my testimony, the board would vote to decide if it was a minor issue or needed to be reported to the Texas Board of Nurse Examiners (BNE). If reported to the board, an official investigation would be completed.  If negligence or malpractice was apparent, the board may revoke, suspend or restrict the my license.  
  I had done the best I could for my patients that night, my documentation didn't reflect that. I was embarrassed. I was scared- scared of my bully of a nurse manager, scared of what might happen, scared of losing my nursing license.
  After the initial shock had worn off, I took council from my friends.  Some had been nurse managers, another was a nurse and attorney.  The concensus seemed to be that as there had been no harm (patient was discharged with no deficits), nothing serious was likely to happen to me or my license.  
  My nurse-attorney friend, Cecelia, had participated in many peer reviews.  
  "Write out a statement of what happened. Acknowledge what you feel you did wrong and explain what was going on.  State what you should have done differently and what you have learned. It might be a good idea if you took a course in documentation.  It will appear as though you are working to improve. Consider calling anyone who helped you that night as a witness. Also, when you appear before the board, your attitude and demeanor count for a lot.  Don't get defensive. Also, don't change your story." 
  I did just that, taking a twenty four credit hour documentation course. I completed a statement which Cecelia edited.  One the other nurses on duty that night, Byron, agreed to speak on my behalf. He was sympathetic.  
  "You got a sh---y assignment that night.  Nobody could really help you.  We were all drowning ourselves.  I honestly don't think you did anything wrong.  I've seen your work. You're good."    
  The day of the hearing, with it's overwhelming dread, came.  Perhaps the most terrifying was the feeling of being completely alone, without a friend or advocate, trying to defend my livelihood.  Byron was there, but he was seated outside until his testimony was required. 
  It all passed as a blur.  My nurse manager, B, appeared and was asked why she had submitted this incident for peer review.  She mentioned the issue in question and second incident where I had forgotten to complete a drug waste.  She kept repeating herself, seeming oddly defensive. 
 The unit manager, L, testified. Her clothing appeared wrinkled, her hair oily and unkempt. She starting talking about a completely different patient until the board chairman corrected her.  
The nurse I had given morning report to spoke.  M was basically neutral.  She had witnessed the reaction.  
 The chart was reviewed thoroughly.  The patient had not revealed to the admitting nurse all his home medications.  A progress note from his internist informed us he took a large dose of another medication on a regular basis.  A high tolerance of this type of drug may have contributed to the reaction. 
  Byron spoke.  He had cared for the patient in question before and after the incident.  His testimony helped to paint a picture of what I dealt with that night, why I had done what I had. It fit with my statements.  
  The witnesses and I were dismissed as the board prepared to deliberate. 
  I was told the results that afternoon. The board had decided this was a "minor incident", it would not be reported further.
  A few weeks later, I saw one of the members of the review board. We chatted about the event.  
"There was a lot of tension in that room. It's normally not like that." She said.  "You did very well.  You held yourself together and defended your practice.  Basically the only thing that it came down to was that you didn't chart like you should have."
  I knew it then. I wanted to be a lawyer.  That was 2008.  I had put that aside to do what was practical: something that could be worked around a future husband and children.  I loved being a nurse and I find work as a nurse practitioner challenging and rewarding.  However, the desire to pursue a legal education was still with me. 
  It was now 2014 and I was 35.  Was I going to spend my entire life waiting for Mr. Right to appear? Besides, if he every does show, wouldn't the right relationship encompass my dreams and goals? 
 My mother had always been opposed to me pursuing a medical or law degree. Neither fit her version of a proper wife and mother.  Was I going to live life for my mom? Or was this my life?
  I confided my desires to Noel.
  "Hey! I think you'd be awesome. It's your life. I'm glad you're finally making it about you!"
  "What about my debt?" 
  "There's always loans."   
  "I don't want anymore debt. Plus, I'll be almost 40 by the time I'm admitted to the Texas Bar. I have to consider retirement"
   "Well. What options do you have?
   I fell silent thinking.
   "My GI Bill will cover 40%, provided I go to a state school.  Texas A&M bought Texas Wesleyan School of Law.  I could apply to go part time. 
   "Ok, there's a big chunk"
   "That still leaves around $60,000."
   "Are you going to let that stop you? I think you're smart enough to find a way." He was right.  There had to be another way around the mountain. 

How Did I Get Here?

  In "Facing the Numbers", I calculated up my debt, detailing where some of the money had been spent. Since that day in late 2012, I have asked myself these questions: What led me to spend like that? Why did I think it was ok? Was there something behind that?  I can't completely dismiss it as only foolish stupidity spurred by the impossible ease of plastic.  Why did I do that?
  By the time I applied to borrow for my graduate school, I already had significant credit card debt.  In 2010, at age 31 (with no debt but my car and mortgage), I had poured thousands of dollars into a national beauty pageant. Yeah, that's right, thousands.
  I had set my mind to win. To do so, I needed a gorgeous dress, interview suit, fashionwear and swimsuit.  I also hired a personal trainer, make-up artist and interview coach.
Had my competitive nature led me to spend? It was only a small part.  I wanted everything to appear perfect. I coveted an impeccable swimsuit body, flawless walk and interview charm. I couldn't get a second-hand dress-someone might notice! I needed to appear not only beautiful, but incredibly successful. Not to be seen as such would be, well... embarrassing.
  Of course I had reasons for thinking this was ok.  I had never just "had fun" with my money.  Everyone has to have a time to splurge on something, right? I was expecting a large payment from the Air Force for travel expenses/allowances from my recent deployment. I told myself I was spending that money.  Deeper still, I had structured my pageant platform around an enduring emotional pain that I still carried. If I could speak about this, I could make a difference and perhaps find healing for myself. Wasn't that worth the expenditure?
  I failed to achieve my ultimate goal for which I had mortgaged myself dearly.  I did not win, finishing below the top three.  I received the Director's Choice Award for the "spirit" I displayed, but I saw myself as a miserable failure. I felt stupid, ugly and rejected. Crestfallen, I returned home.  

  I was painfully reminded of my brief foray into modeling. At age 25, after losing over 25 pounds, I had been contracted by a local modeling agency.  The major drawback to my getting jobs (I thought) was my skin. I had suffered from severe acne as a teen and bore the scars.
  "Just work on it." I was told.  I went to various plastic surgeons, undergoing painful chemical and laser peels. I never achieved perfect skin. Wow! How realistic! I had entered modeling in pursuit of glamor and status. I left a little over a year later. I had been a model but I felt hideous.
  What I did not understand was that I was seeking irrefutable evidence of my own self worth: if I could prove I was beautiful, I had value as a human being.
  How had I come to be so emotionally bankrupt? So devoid of self-love and self-worth? Each of us must face our demons but mine were many. I traced them to a series of events beginning at age seven. Over a period of two years, I was molested on multiple occasions.

  As a child, I did not understand a piece of my soul had been stolen. With the years came the realization, engulfing me with it's unspeakable pain and shame. Pain became anger, deepening into rage. I turned that rage onto the safest (and nearest) victim present-myself.
  I think as children, we do our best to make sense of an unpredictable world. If we know why something happened, it is far less frightening. When people I loved and trusted harmed me, I concluded it could only be my fault.
For the better part of 17 years, I tortured myself with bulimia and self mutilation. I mercilessly pushed myself to not just succeed, but be perfect. Receiving a "B" on a test or being criticized left me devastated, scourging myself for "being so f-ing stupid".  Sometimes, I truly hated myself.
   As an adult, I met an older man I came to trust as a father figure.  Unfortunately, I discovered too late that I had opened the door to another predator.
   Although I was successful in my career, I kept my distance from people, fearing to trust. I dated men occasionally but would quickly break it off: Men were too frightening! I was desperately lonely. My animals and food were my only companions.
   In a required class for graduate school in 2012, I met a classmate, Noel.  Cautiously, I allowed him to befriend me.
I now pursued a title in bikini competitions. I followed a rigorous diet and exercise regime. I was also spending again, dropping money on collagen and Botox injections. I won a local competition and shelled out almost $1500 to compete for a national title in Las Vegas. I finished last.
  Devastated and humiliated, I made my way through the shabby casino to my stale room. I lay there, my body aching. What was I doing? 

   The truth hit me like a bolt of lightening. I was seeking validation. I sat up in the darkness, watching the city lights flicker. I was 34 years old, awash in a sea of debt and completely miserable.  How foolish I felt, how pathetic. I texted Noel.
"This has all been a fool's errand. I came looking for self-worth."
"It's ok, Em."
"I've been so utterly stupid."
"Do you ever stop abusing yourself?"
  The tears began to fall. I was that frightened little girl again, sobbing in her pain and confusion. I just wanted to be held, to be loved by someone who gave a damn about me.  Yet I was alone, abandoned in a strange place.

   Who was I anyways? Underneath the carefully crafted exterior, what constituted the authentic Emily? I had always tried to "adjust my personality" to the situation I found myself in. I could be outgoing, reserved, funny or stoic at will. What did I honestly feel? I didn't know. I was floating through life in numbness and detachment.
  For a graduation present, Noel had paid my tuition to the Weekend, the first of the Core Trainings offered by Pathways, a non-profit organization in Irving, TX. The Pathways curriculum is designed to increase emotional intelligence, and its trainees are challenged to critically inventory their lives, habits and relationships.
    Skeptical and defensive, I was confounded by a simple question: what do you want?. Money, beauty, respect, right? No. These answers were all rejected. To know, I had to feel again. I needed to unlock my poor broken heart I had hidden for so long. I had to acknowledge what I pretended didn't exist: the pain, the shame, the rage. Only then could I truthfully answer. I wanted peace. I wanted to feel worthy. I wanted to love me.
    It has been a very long, hard road that still winds before me. I see now that my debt was only a symptom. I was trying to fill the hole in my heart.
In George Eliot's classic tale, Silas Marner is cruelly betrayed by a trusted friend. Embittered, he exiles himself to a distance village. Silas lives as a recluse, caring for nothing except a collection of gold coins hidden beneath the cottage floor. One day his money is stolen. In his feverish search, Silas instead finds an abandoned child. He raises her as his own, discovering with her innocent love the lasting peace of forgiveness.

Psalm 147:3 He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wound.

The Highs and Lows of the Debt Diet

  I think most of us (certainly us ladies) are familiar with the joys of being on a diet.  The wonderous task of counting calories, pushing to exercise and sacrificing the delicious things we love, all for swimsuit season or to fit in those jeans again. 
  Seeking to eliminate debt is a lot like being on a diet, don't you think?  Strict budgeting, seeking to increase income while lowering expenses, giving up stuff we splurged on in, works to push us towards the goal of financial tranquility. Furthermore, just as it is in an extreme diet or fast, progress is significant but we are highly suseptible to "cheating".
In an interview by Kimberly Palmer for US News and World Report Money, JoAnne Nagler describes how she successfully paid off $80,000 of credit card debt in ten years. 
   "If you engage in self-deprivation, you can just do it for a few months.  Learn how to live well on the cash you earn, and fund the things that make for a healthy life.....I'm not saying it's going to be fast [repayment], what you want is slow-and-steady steps." 
    As you saw in "Robbing Peter to Pay Paul", I now had a bit of room in my budget.  I allowed for some miscellaneous spending.  I couldn't have a "junk food run" every day, but once-a-week at Chic-fil-a was ok.  It even tasted better now that it was a treat.  
    I had made my friends aware of my situation.  Yeah, it was humbling, but I was touched by their support and understanding. We still planned outings and get-togethers: "Ok, so you'll bring the meat? I'll pick up the wine and she'll bake cookies?" It was less expensive but I appreciated even more the simple joy of their companionship. 
   I planned purchases of the things I needed.  Invited to a friend's engagement party, I was going to need a "little black dress".  I had $120 for both the dress and an evening bag. 
  As a lover of Internet shopping, I began to check prices.  Boston Proper, Ann Taylor and White House Black Market were all beyond my budget.  Was I tempted to splurge? Of course. 
  I searched ebay (the world's biggest garage sale) for a 'little black dress, size 6, NWT (new with tags)'.  I narrowed the results for designer goods: Ann Taylor, Boston Proper, Calvin Klein.  Aha! That's pretty! An elegant dress by Calvin Klein, retailing in stores for $140. I clicked "Buy it Now" (I never bid).  It could be mine for $75 plus shipping! I had a new dress AND money for a purse! 
  I searched Amazon.com for "evening purse".  A simple black silk clutch for $20! Ok, this wasn't a name brand, but it was pretty.  As an Amazon Prime member, I enjoyed free shipping on both the
purse and a shimery silver wrap I chose (I'm always cold). My total stood at $114. 
  With a pair of black sequin stilletos and rhinestone earrings (recycled from my pageant days), I felt pretty and stylish. My friends noticed too.
    "Look how beautiful you are! I love you're dress. Where did you get it?"
    "Ebay!" I said with a laugh. 
  My budget also worked in emergencies.  An animal lover, I had three "critters", cats Eddie and Daisy and Pansy the Pug.  They were all due for their shots and Pansy needed more heartworm meds.
  Daisy had not been herself for lately. While she was still a gentle "lap cat", she had been vomiting and soiling frequently, slowly losing weight. I had adopted her at nine weeks old over ten years ago. She had always been healthy.  
My friend Carrie worked as a vet tech in Eastland, almost two hours west of my home in Mansfield, TX.  Prices were more affordable there.  I liked the vet I used locally, but the money I had set aside wouldn't be enough to cover the bill.  I packed up fur babies and headed west, all the while fearing what might be wrong with Daisy.
   Eddie was in top shape. Pansy needed to drop a few pounds but was otherwise healthy.  I waited anxiously for the results on Daisy.  Carrie had come with me.  She had recently euthanized her Australian Cattle-Dog, Louis. 
    "There's a pet crematorium not far from here.  It's really quite reasonable and they come pick the remains." She had showed me Louis' urn earlier that day. 
    The news was as I had feared, it was time for Daisy to go over the Rainbow Bridge.  The vet was kind and sympathetic.  He asked what I would like to do with the body.  
    "I can take it for you, but that basically means she goes in a bag in the trash," he said gently. I was sobbing by this time.
    "No! no! I want to keep her with me." He asked me if I wanted to be present. I could not bear to leave her.  My tears flowed freely as I petted her to sleep. I kissed her on last time, removing her purple collar. The bell jingled. I cried harder as Carrie hugged me. 
   My bill had come to almost $500. I had only set aside about $250, unaware that I would need to euthanize sweet Daisy. The cost of her vet workup, euthanasia and cremation made up the difference. Numbly, I realized my miscellaneous money was gone.  I hadn't needed to use my credit cards, though.  I had covered the bill. 
   Carrie drove me back to her house.  I could not stop crying. How would I go to work tomorrow? I called my boss. She was sympathetic but there was no one able to cover my shift. I had to go.  I honestly couldn't afford not to work, anyways. Sadly, I thanked Carrie and told her goodbye. I gathered Pansy and Eddie and began the long drive home. 
  The next day was mercifully slow as I cried for most of it. I had been invited to a friend's birthday party at Benihana's that evening.  I couldn't afford it. I texted my good friend Adam, also the birthday girl's boyfriend.
   " Do you think Chloe would mind if I just sat with you guys and maybe had a soda? I'm really short money with everything I spent on Daisy."
   "Would you let me treat you?"
  I wanted to say no. He was in school and I made more money. I also knew that he loved me and understood my grief. 
   "Thank you Adam. That really means alot." The tears came again. 
   I had a lovely time that night: enjoying the comfort and companionship of my friends, eating delicious hibachi, all generously paid for by Adam's father. The bitterness of my sorrow softened with their kind sympathy. 
  Later that night, I lay listening to Pansy's comforting snore. I had food in the pantry and my house had heat and light. In the garage, my reliable chariot, my 2008 Ford Focus, had just had all scheduled maintenance. I had not one, but two jobs. All my bills were paid and I was slowly climbing out of debt. I had friends who loved and supported me, accepting me just as I was.  Eddie nestled against me, purring.  From beyond the peaceful solitude of the house I heard the gentle coo of a mourning dove, calling it's mate.  I was a wealthy woman. 

Robbing Peter to pay Paul (and getting some breathing room)

As I wrote in "Tiny Steps," I had started making slow but steady progress. I watched my
budget carefully and worked hard, applying everything extra to my credit card with the
lowest balance (Visa, starting balance of $9,900). With credit counseling and loan
consolidation eliminated as options, I looked to my dwelling.
Recovery of home prices in north Texas after the 2008 housing bust had been fairly
rapid. My one-story brick ranch, purchased for $165,000 in 2005, was now worth
$182,000. Thanks to a 15-year mortgage at 5% APR, I only owed $129,000. Prime
mortgage rates had dropped to just under 4% in the summer of 2013.
I didn't have stellar credit anymore, but I managed to qualify for a loan for 4%
APR. Not bad. I was allowed to borrow 80% of my home's value ($145,600) in
September 2013. After fees and closing costs, I received $14,000. I used this to pay
down my car ($5,800) and to shrink my credit card debt to
just under $30,000.
Doing so gave me the biggest bang for my buck, freeing up over $350 dollars in my
monthly budget. Additionally, my mortgage payment dropped from $2,050 to $1606. In
under a year I had reduced my unsecured debt by 25.4%. I could now make ends meet
and slowly discharge the debt without working overtime.
While I was still willing to work hard, I was starting to buckle under the strain, falling
ill frequently. Early in 2014, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness.
Rolling debt into a mortgage is not "getting out of debt.” It is simply a reallocation
(Robbing Peter to pay Paul because Peter charges lower interest).
Huettner Capital president Todd Huettner manages a mortgage brokerage firm that
specializes in debt consolidation. Huettner suggests homeowners answer three questions
before combining debt with a home mortgage:
1. Why do you have this debt? As I mentioned in "Stopping the Bleeding,"
consolidation must accompany a change in spending habits (living on a sound
budget). Failure to do so only results in a bigger mess.
2. What are the costs of consolidating the debt? As I noted above, I needed to pay
nearly $2600 in fees and closing costs. I'm now paying that back (with interest of
course). Because I was able to finance to a lower interest rate, I will save money in the
long run (five years-plus).
3. Is there a more effective way to eliminate your debt? If you have less debt, or when
cash-out costs are high, stick with paying the old-fashioned way. While failing to pay on
credit cards may bring a lower credit score and some nasty phone calls, your house can't
be taken. Defaulting on a mortgage or home equity loan is a different matter.
All things considered, this was the best option for me. I needed some breathing room. I
needed to work fewer hours. I needed to take care of me.
Personal finance experts and their proscribed debt fixes are many: Jean Chatzy's “Debt
Diet,” Dave Ramsey's “Financial Peace University,” Suze Orman's “9 Steps to Financial
Freedom.” etc. Rolling debt into a mortgage is not high on the list of recommendations of
any of them. Overall, however, their principles are the same: Reduce your debt and
increase wealth through budget discipline and living within your means. I have taken tips
from each, with Dave Ramsey being one of my favorites. It is my life and my money.
Ultimately I have to do what works for me.