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la la la la loser
Feb. 24th, 2007 07:08 pmi want the apartment. i want the open kitchen with the six-foot stretch of uninterrupted counter space. i want the fireplace with the rough wood mantel that would hold my chango candles, and over which i could give my Bop Girl poster pride of place. i want the balcony overlooking a quiet, tree-lined residential street, accessible by sliding glass doors from either the living room or the bedroom. i want the bathroom you can get to without walking through the bedroom. i want the walk-in closet and the storage space and the washer/dryer hookups. i want the free cable and high speed internet, and the open-year-round swimming pool, and the 7-11 right there on the corner, across the street from the bus stop.
if i had a steady tech writing gig, i could afford two of this apartment. but because i don't have a steady job yet (the promise of a long-term, $12/hour temp job looms, and i had a very promising phone interview for a 3-month, $35/hour writing gig, but none of this counts as "full time employment") and my credit is bad, chances are good that they won't rent to me even with a financially stable co-signer. not even if i offer to put up two or three months' rent in advance.
i want the apartment. it's not the one that's only a block from Chuy's, which i also really, really liked, but it's a nicer complex and a nicer neighborhood and a nicer floor plan and did i mention those six uninterrupted feet of counter space? (there's more, too -- but that long, empty stretch of formica fills my mind with possibilities.)
i want the apartment, but i won't know till Monday whether they'll consider my application at all.
and even if they do -- if anybody does -- i'll be paying for it with borrowed money, and the lease will be co-signed by people who don't really know me well enough to be sticking their necks out for me like that. and i still don't have a job, and it feels like it would be leaping out into space without a net and hoping a trapeze happens to fly by.
and i am scared shitless and feeling like i'm digging myself a hole clear to China, but i haven't got any other choices. i am just plain out of other options. i get an apartment -- somehow, somewhere -- or i'm on the street. sleeping in the car. leaving my stuff behind to drive to yet another state to inflict myself on yet other friends (with whom i'd have to beg, since no more have offered), with no promise things will be any better anywhere else.
i'm 40 years old, and my life has gone completely to shit, and i cannot see the light at the end of the large intestine. depression has taken away everything i'd gained, all the progress i'd made, all the confidence i'd built. ironically enough, my current medication is working well enough that i feel enthusiastic about and completely prepared for a job, should one come along -- it's just that my circumstances are so bad that they keep dragging me back down to the subterranean darkness. i don't want to kill myself, but i wish fifty times a day that i'd just die. my total possessions would not sell for enough to repay even my personal debts at this point, much less the others. i have negative value. i have no pride. no dignity. no self-respect.
if i don't get either of the prospects for the coming week, i'm going to hit Starbuck's or Office Depot, just so i can say i have a full time job. oh, sure, i'll work nights and weekends, that'll keep me open to interview during the day. and maybe it will be enough for me to get an apartment, even if it's a shitty one with windows overlooking the freeway and two square feet of counter space. and i'll be locked into it by a too-long lease so that even when i get a real job i'll be stuck living in a pit. and then the IRS will garnish my wages and i'll be stuck in that pit forever.
because i am just not lucky enough to get hit by a bus and embrace the bliss of nonexistence. fate may be the fool's name for fortune, but O, i am fortune's fool.
if i had a steady tech writing gig, i could afford two of this apartment. but because i don't have a steady job yet (the promise of a long-term, $12/hour temp job looms, and i had a very promising phone interview for a 3-month, $35/hour writing gig, but none of this counts as "full time employment") and my credit is bad, chances are good that they won't rent to me even with a financially stable co-signer. not even if i offer to put up two or three months' rent in advance.
i want the apartment. it's not the one that's only a block from Chuy's, which i also really, really liked, but it's a nicer complex and a nicer neighborhood and a nicer floor plan and did i mention those six uninterrupted feet of counter space? (there's more, too -- but that long, empty stretch of formica fills my mind with possibilities.)
i want the apartment, but i won't know till Monday whether they'll consider my application at all.
and even if they do -- if anybody does -- i'll be paying for it with borrowed money, and the lease will be co-signed by people who don't really know me well enough to be sticking their necks out for me like that. and i still don't have a job, and it feels like it would be leaping out into space without a net and hoping a trapeze happens to fly by.
and i am scared shitless and feeling like i'm digging myself a hole clear to China, but i haven't got any other choices. i am just plain out of other options. i get an apartment -- somehow, somewhere -- or i'm on the street. sleeping in the car. leaving my stuff behind to drive to yet another state to inflict myself on yet other friends (with whom i'd have to beg, since no more have offered), with no promise things will be any better anywhere else.
i'm 40 years old, and my life has gone completely to shit, and i cannot see the light at the end of the large intestine. depression has taken away everything i'd gained, all the progress i'd made, all the confidence i'd built. ironically enough, my current medication is working well enough that i feel enthusiastic about and completely prepared for a job, should one come along -- it's just that my circumstances are so bad that they keep dragging me back down to the subterranean darkness. i don't want to kill myself, but i wish fifty times a day that i'd just die. my total possessions would not sell for enough to repay even my personal debts at this point, much less the others. i have negative value. i have no pride. no dignity. no self-respect.
if i don't get either of the prospects for the coming week, i'm going to hit Starbuck's or Office Depot, just so i can say i have a full time job. oh, sure, i'll work nights and weekends, that'll keep me open to interview during the day. and maybe it will be enough for me to get an apartment, even if it's a shitty one with windows overlooking the freeway and two square feet of counter space. and i'll be locked into it by a too-long lease so that even when i get a real job i'll be stuck living in a pit. and then the IRS will garnish my wages and i'll be stuck in that pit forever.
because i am just not lucky enough to get hit by a bus and embrace the bliss of nonexistence. fate may be the fool's name for fortune, but O, i am fortune's fool.
