Thursday, May 20, 2010
Ain't That A Kick In The Pants
Money money money. I wish I could say it with the lightheartedness of the ABBA song, but alas, it's NOT a rich man's world. At least my world isn't.
Silverchair had a line in a song circa 1990-something "They say money isn't everything, but I'd like to see you live without it". For a neo-grunge bunch of young'uns, they knew what the FUCK they were talking about.
I know I know, things could be worse as I am constantly reminded, but shit on a stick they aren't that easy either.
I am not homeless...yet. I am not carless...yet. I have a temporary job. It sounds so cheesy. "I'm temping" Like it's 1985 Working Girl and I am supposed to sit airily in front of a typewriter and file my nails and gossip from 9-5.
Granted I am currently working 8-4, but I digress.
Falling behind and trying to catch up when more things keep mounting is seemingly impossible. When everything else in my life is finally fantastic, I am drowning in a sea of past due notices and collection calls.
My health is finally (for now knock on wood) not mimicking that of a 65 year old man, I have a wonderful man in my life, and my family and friends are amazing. And yet...
Yet among the things that are so right, the other side of the compass is so far off. SO off course that I am likely to end up lost in the Arctic, frozen to death and afraid of my next step.
I never thought that taking a $2 an hour pay cut would be so drastic. Well, in theory it wouldn't have been that bad, BUT you factor in they only allow you to work 35 hours so you lose 5 more hours there AND then they hit you with anywhere from $10-$18 a day for parking...depending on if you can get to the other side of the massive campus and get a pass to keep it on the lower side. It adds up. Or more over, subtracts.
I have completely thrown myself into my Relay for Life efforts. Thinking maybe if I focus more on my need to raise money for charity and do good things, that maybe, just maybe Karma, that fickle lady she is, will finally look over and say, "Oh yeah, I forgot you were one of the GOOD ones" and maybe throw me a frickin bone.
I planned an all day benefit concert, the 3rd Annual Save the Tata's Benefit. Complete with great bands and raffle items. Year after year I do this, with promised attendance from various close friends and family, and year after year I am disappointed by the no-shows. Sure people come, those tried and true, those people who keep their word, and even strangers off the street. It's minimally successful in a way. Sure we raise funds, but nowhere near the potential it should have for what it is. And 100% of the proceeds go to the American Cancer Society, so it’s not like I pocket it!
I get so distressed by it. But it's a welcome distraction to the stress of my own sordid financial reality. Knowing I have lost so many loved ones to this disease makes my problems seem minimal, right? RIGHT??
So alas, I sit and suffer as it were. Driving day by day into the concrete jungle. Temporarily a fixture. Trying to figure any other way to obtain extra income. Do a little make-up here, participate in an acting thing there (oh yes, I am). Trying to bolster my struggling Mary Kay business in the process.
Aside from either some sort of mystery inheritance or a lottery windfall (which would be as likely as me giving birth to Jesus, as I don't actually PLAY the lottery), I have no idea how to play catch-up.
Oh sure, there's that ever fun road of public assistance, but in a zippy and unexpected twist, I make too much money for help. I can't pay my rent, my car, or utilities. I can't pay for my son's school, but I make too much money to get help. Help I have paid into for the past 16 years of legally working in the state of Massachusetts.
Ain't that a kick in the pants.