I waited until late at night to post this because it does have a certain personal, navel-gazing quality. But there were close to
142,000,000 of these stories out there as of the end of last month, and that doesn't count the devastatingly under-employed who are laboring in the minimum wage service-sector jobs the Bush adminisration is so proud of creating.
A friend of mine asked me how I was doing today. I wasn't planning to say much more than, "Fine. Could be better. You know how it is." But it just wasn't true.
I'm not sure why I'm sharing this here. Maybe it's because I feel guilty about not having done enough over the summer to help the campaign or register voters. Maybe it's because I worry about the effect of 142,000,000 (more or less) discouraged and struggling Americans on the body politic, month after month, year after year. I keep hoping desperation will lead to rebellion against an unresponsive and corrupt system, but what if it leads to collective surrender? Are we around the corner from our FDR, or are we staring down the barrel of the end of the Republic?
Talk about your Carter "malaise"! My day, after the jump...
How am I doing? Ah. I wish that were an easy question.
It's my birthday today, and I really wish it weren't. Birthdays are too much of an invitation to self-examination, and what I really want is escape from self. I don't much like being me right now. I've been trying unsuccessfully to harness this experience and make something good and expansive out of it. If I were a painter, I would paint vast canvasses of midnight blues, shot through with 60 watt yellows. If I were a musician I would write endless brooding melodies. But I'm neither of those things, and I pretty much get through each day doing my best to make sure my garden is watered and my cats are fed. What am I supposed to be learning here?
A couple weeks ago, just 10 days after losing my health insurance, I had to be rushed to the emergency room with every appearance of appendicitis or some other sort of abdominal tear. They never found anything wrong, but still, I got a bill for another $2000 or so. I'm petitioning the hospital to be treated as a charity case, which itself involves a number of demeaning and depressing hoops and balancing acts. This past weekend, my mom came to town to help me put weatherstripping on my windows and to bring me food. I gave her my parking space and moved my car for the weekend, not noticing until I returned on Sunday that I had parked in a handicapped zone. I traded several cans of peaches and chili mix for $300 in parking tickets. I've asked for an in-person hearing, intending to throw myself at the mercy of the court, knowing I have little chance, but knowing I have no other choice. Again, what am I supposed to be learning here?
I've finally landed a second job interview, which makes a grand total of two interviews since July. In my head, I have "A Chorus Line" on perpetual replay: "I really need this job. Please God, I need this job." I study the interview books and tweak my resume. I reflect on my professional experiences and pray to God, Buddha, and Vishnu that desperation isn't the first thing anyone notices about me.
What a strange world this is.
But, I'm not without blessings. A very kind man named Brady colors away my grey roots for free, and he made time for an emergency appointment today, bringing me a cupcake with birthday candles in it while I waited for youth to be restored with a little brown dye. My little brother, who was briefly jobless himself last year around this time, sent me $45 that I know he can barely afford. The basil and cilantro from my garden is plentiful and delicious. After my last physical, my doctor told me I have the lipid profile of an athlete, and no sign of heart disease. I have two cats who love me without condition. Thank God for animals.
I'm alive. It's just a very strange life right now, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. I don't know what to do with any of this, really. It's all just shuffling around in my head, like puzzle pieces looking for the right puzzle to accommodate all of them.
On Friday, I'm going to take $20 of the money my brother sent me for my birthday and treat myself to a couple of matinees. It's not a Spanish island, and there will be no warm Mediterranean water lapping over my toes, but it will be a kind of escape for awhile, a place and time where there are no resumes, no unemployment checks, no bills, no torturous reflections on all the crap I should probably have accomplished by the age of 36. I'm thinking maybe John Waters can be my best friend for a day, and that will be a very good day.