Clever is a state of mind
I am going back to work tomorrow. I don’t know how to feel about that, not liking my job as much as I do in some ways, I suppose. It’s not my JOB that is the problem given you can put me in a position and have me helping people and I will feel satisfaction and feel the gratitude for the kind of person I am, the kind of energy I meet and greet people extending. I love people, and I love helping people–in any capacity I can. But it’s the idea that I am dying a little every day that socks me the hardest. Of course we are all dying a little every day, but the manifestation of the reality for me is a little clearer. I have truly and absolutely felt like I had a time bomb ticking in my chest, and it does like to go off every few years to remind me there’s an issue, for reasons I don’t understand, couldn’t ever understand. It makes that whole idea of living life something I should be doing with a little more reward since now I am not even living, I am surviving, with no possible result of thriving in sight. Say that five times fast. It sucks. I am not going to make it to retirement, and why the fuck would I want to, given my brain is getting slowly cheetahed with black spots from strokes. At some point the rewiring isn’t going to be quite so smooth, and there might be something a little more prohibitive to my general wanderlust or any lust anyhow. And who the fuck wants that? That’s no life. That’s me in a home…where I would hope one of you would pillow me into heaven, since that is no life I want at all.
I am going to start the process, the process to reverse this heap of shit luck that has landed on my fucking head. There has got to be a way out of this, out of this hopelessness, this lack of light or having anything worth fighting for-a life is simply not a life, as I am sure both my birth mother and mother could attest to-but this isn’t it. I know this isn’t it because there is nothing fucking magical about this poverty. There is nothing remarkable, sparkly or interesting about having these boulders of burden on your shoulders, the taxes you owe, the weight of debt from the education you plucked when it wasn’t yours to have. What the fuck was I thinking trying to prove to everyone I wasn’t stupid, I could get in and I could just do it-get myself the opportunity, shake that loser label that had outfitted me as soon as the words were spit from my mother’s mouth. Why did I think I could buy my way out of that, given that’s what my education did, leave me way worse than I would have been had I never tried to do that at all.
I am one of those people who does happen to believe the only thing that can save us sometimes is winning the lottery. How sad is that? Hard work and endless hours of me working and even Don getting a $10 an hour job aren’t going to do anything for the kind of shit, the level of insanity that this life has lent. If we get a leg up somehow somewhere, some way…maybe so. As it is right now rent is not something I can afford, so living where we do has been a little easier. There’s asbestos and all the shit that goes with living in a house un-renovated since the 50’s if not earlier, except for faux wood paneling to cover up all the holes in the plaster. It’s probably not the best in many ways…but it’s not a box or a dumpster, since that’s about all we could afford.
YAY us.
I’ve got this other website I am working on, to hopefully help get us out of the hole, since winning the lottery doesn’t happen to people who can’t afford to play it almost all of the time.
I’ll give you all a sneak peak soon!
