About the Time I Bought a $14 Smoothie but Cried Over Rent

Let me set the scene: It’s the end of the month. My bank account is gasping. I’ve got 47 pesos to my name, my fridge contains half a lime and a suspicious Tupperware of moldy something, and my rent is looming over me like the ghost of fiscal responsibility past.

And yet.

And yet.
There I am, walking out of a very chic café holding a $14 smoothie made of goji berries, coconut water harvested from the tears of unicorns, and a sprinkle of capitalism. The smoothie is called something like "Rebirth" or "Glow Goddess Fuel." I call it "Denial with a paper straw." (Financially irresponsible, but I’m not trying to hurt the sea turtles).

This is not a one-time event. This is a pattern.
Because somehow, in my brain, $14 for a smoothie is “self-care.” $3,000 pesos for groceries? “Excessive.”
Dog food? “Do they really need premium kibble?”
Therapy? “That’s a luxury.”
Extending my vacation by 12 days to eat olives in Greece like a sunburnt goddess? “Absolutely essential for my mental health.”
Spoiler alert: I came back from that trip with 3 hours of sleep, a suitcase full of regrets, and a fresh layer of credit card debt so thick you could butter it.

I have lived through crippling debt. The kind where you check your account balance and it says, “Haha girl.”
I’ve been in the trenches. Borrowed $500 pesos to survive the week. Skipped groceries. Got real creative with sad tortillas and half an onion.
But did I stop traveling? No.

Did I stop buying the $14 smoothie? Also no.
Because somehow, my brain doesn’t register "vacation spending" as real money. Like, it’s not debt if it happened in euros. #TRAVELMATH.

You know that feeling when you come back from a 3-week trip and think, “Ah yes, time to reset, be responsible, and budget again”?
Yeah. Me neither. I come back, open my banking app, scream, and immediately buy an overpriced bottle of wine because I need “something happy” to distract me from the fact that I now owe my bank and possibly the spirit realm money.

And let’s not forget the anxiety. Not the fun kind that makes you clean your apartment at 2am. The kind that makes your eyelid twitch when your phone buzzes because you’re terrified it’s your bank saying “We need to talk.”

I know what you’re thinking. “Why don’t you just budget better?”
First of all: RUDE.
Second: I do have a budget. It’s just entirely made of vibes and delusion.
I always intend to be responsible. But then my internal gremlin whispers, “You only live once. Flights are on sale. And who needs savings when you have ✨wanderlust✨? What do you need money for? If you die, you’'ll die happy.” She’s a witch.

It’s all very glamorous until you’re sitting in a hoodie that cost more than your electric bill, crying over your rent invoice, while sipping something called “Zenberry Power.”

Anyway. I’m working on it. I swear.
But I also just found $150 flights to Barcelona and honestly… should I?