Money. Lovely fricken money. Fantastic when you have it. A mother when you don’t.
Yeah, and I don’t. Wonderful, smart me wasn’t exactly paying attention and I spent and I spent and now I have nothing. Nope, for more than a week I will have to subsist from my credit card, which is precariously close to being maxed.
Lovely feeling, isn’t it? That feeling that you might not make it. What are you going to do? Not enough money for gas, food, lights, water. Actually, I have paid for lights. But not for water, or Hot water. And, strictly speaking, I haven’t paid for Hot or water in two months. So, yeah, they want their fricken money. As it is, I’m going to have to run from one account and take out half (of my lovely forty dollars-for the math geniuses out there that’s a twenty-dollar bill) take all the cash in my wallet (six smackaroos) and deposit it to cover gas (for car: already purchased) and pilates (check already written: but who knows when it will clear) and then call and beg my nutritionist to NOT cash the check I wrote last night for 60-some-odd dollars, because it will be as a giant rubber ball.
Back to the feeling of it. How does it feel? Have you felt that way? The “oh-my-gawd-I-have-not-enough, what-am-I-going-to-do-?” feeling and question that is indelibly tattooing its mantra through your head, through your veins, attacking your heart and then seems to ooze through your skin, so you stink of it? Ever felt that way?
Confession: I intentionally didn’t pay bills. Was freakin’ tired of having nothing. Nothing! So when I would be completely caught up and pay my Hot bill and my water bill: I didn’t. Just didn’t. B urged me not to do it. I said it would be fine. And the truth is, I would probably be fine, but I broke down and paid the light bill-which I had finally caught up, and therefore, wasn’t late yet. That’s right, folks! Wasn’t late (yet).
Bully for me.
So now that I’ve written my stupidity down. Ehh. Doesn’t feel too bad. But I have yet to start dwelling. And I live it. I move in, make a little space, plop down and begin to nest. I wrap myself in it – get all warm under the oppressive mantle and begin to smother and as the blanket blocks out most of the light, I begin to pray to I know not what that the lights will not go out, and I will make it through.
Ever felt like that? It’s damn uncomfortable. But yet, as it is known, it’s not scary or truly intolerable. That’s frightening.