My friend Linsey told me about this trip she’d taken with her boyfriend (now husband!) along the west coast, up Route 1. I want to do that! I’ve always wanted to do that!

I dreamed up a trip in which I’d drive through Colorado, down to L.A., up the California coast. I could swing by Yosemite, and keep heading north. Spend some time in Portland. Visit Scott in Seattle. Drive through Glacier. Head home.

I could do it in December. It would be perfect timing, a real sabbatical period.

But then, a temporary job I took on in October needed me in December. I decided to stay. I needed the money. Badly. And the only way I’d be able to afford this dream trip was if I dug into my savings—my pathetically tiny savings. This temporary job paid well, and could pay, for one thing, my bills for a few months and, two, the trip.

The job I’d be leaving was a support salary—I raised my finances through donations from very generous loved ones. I was falling behind. I could take a lower salary, but even that might not land me in the positive. And I had to pay the organization back if I left in the negative.

In one act of desperation, I gave plasma to see if this could be another way for me to make some money. However, the process, which landed me three ice packs when I almost blacked out, wiped me out for three days. I decided it wasn’t something my body could handle on a regular basis.

So I postponed the trip. Maybe I’d find time in January.