Money woes: an international woe

"I didn't come to China to be worried about money," my supervisor lamented Friday night on the way to too much baijo. "If I wanted to worry about money, I'd have stayed in the States."
The baijo Friday night certainly helped to numb the reality of being impoverished in a third-world country. The liquor I would call something as wretched as Everclear or Maddog 20/20 but my North Carolinian supervisor can give a dissertation on how it's much more like moonshine. I'll take his word for it.
Worrying about money has become conversation du jour, especially for some of us.
Some of us haven't yet been paid after six weeks of work by our employing university. One Western teacher discusses his woes of having 300 RMB (about $50) before being paid last week for a month's work at his employing school.
I haven't had a paycheck since my last freelance project ended in September, 2008. Thanks to the help of some friends and family I got by, but not before being evicted from my apartment and having my car relocated. Thanks also to the help of welfare services that provided free psychiatric/psychotherapeutic and food assistance. That was what it was like to be broke in America.
I hadn't asked for it but one friend was smart enough to give me some cash before I came to China so that when I arrived I had a whopping $89. That was eight weeks ago. Since, I've continued a life so frugal I could show ascetics a tip or two. It sucks not having wine, but if it means I can eat the next day, so be it. It's beguiling using my feminine wiles (and other less gender-oriented methods) to finagle a beer or even lunch. I'm accustomed to doing myself a great disservice by paying for my own drinks during dates or otherwise proving my extreme independence by shelling out bucks when someone else is more than willing to pay. I never learned the things my parents, both bankers, taught me about money when growing up; that is, I never learned to like money enough to keep it around. I did, however, learn to buy food, gas and cigarettes with $3.
I used to say that money is the root of all evil until someone helped clarify that: love of money is the root of all evil. That's nice. Yes, I concur. That must be why ascetics never carry a cabbage roll of it. Penniless is next to godliness. Does that mean I'm closer to god? I hope not, because carrying around $.50 in China doesn't make you feel holy. (Albeit it keeps your capitalistic sentiments at bay.)
Meanwhile, waiting for payday, which is three days from now, I have accepted a friend's loan of 50 quay (about $8). It's been split smartly between transportation, food for three days, and (of course) cigarettes and beer. I await the opportunity to have a full cabinet of food. I await the chance to buy toilet paper and pay utilities. I await the ability to repay my friends while sipping what's called wine here in China.
And if my roommates decide my momentary inability to help pay for transportation to and from work get annoyed, well, they can go make themselves feel better by continuing their consumer lifestyle here in this third-world country.
Too many arguments begin over financial matters, and I'd rather not pursue that convention. After all, it's a matter of priorities. Money will always come. Money will always go. Priorities and patience will persist, regardless.