I find myself a little bit depressed this morning. I was smiling last night when I fell asleep, and nothing has really happened in the real world between now and then that would facilitate a mood change. I can only assume that it's either backed-up hormones, or some lousy dreams last night that I don't remember.
The problem with moods in general is not necessarily that bad ones occur, but that human beings always seem to have to fucking rationalize them. I freely admit, right here and now, that my state of melancholy has absolutely nothing to do with anything. My brain, however, insists on coming up with REASONS for it. Of course, my life isn't perfect, and I always have a few things I really wish were different... But NOW, thanks to my dumb-assed brain, I'm sitting here DWELLING on them, and blaming them for my current mood.
Today is the 22nd of the month. Thirty-one days has August. A week and a half left until the first of next month. I have about fifteen dollars, and seven dollars in food stamps, to get me through until then. Twenty-two dollars, ten days.
I talked to Aaron on the phone yesterday. He asked if I had a job, and what the hell was I doing about money, etc. I had to tell him: "No job. I'm a welfare mom."
I'm not particularly ashamed of being a welfare mom, because I know that right now I genuinely need the money. I'm not too proud; really, I'm not. What's depressing about the situation is that I'm perfectly capable of working. Maybe not ten-hour shifts, maybe not heavy labor, but I'm certainly capable of doing office work or something. Or hell: tutoring. I have a fucking Bachelor's degree, for gahd's sake! I AM capable of working.
So, why am I not working? Well, a couple of reasons... In May, I got fired because I didn't show up to work, and I hadn't called. And yeah, I really do think a person should get fired for that, especially since it meant somebody else had to cover my appointments without preparing for them. I deserved to get fired. Except... except that it genuinely wasn't anything I could help. I mean, on the day in question, I had a large piece of metal wrapped around my throat, and was being screamed at. I couldn't really speak, much less coherently ask for the telephone to call in to work. Later, I was a little too busy being stared down as I threw all of my earthly possessions into plastic garbage bags -- a little too busy to make a quick phone call.
So, I got fired. That's fine. It wasn't the fault of my employers that I didn't call and didn't show up. It wasn't my fault either, but I wouldn't expect them to make an exception just because it wasn't my fault.
Now, there is a program I could have taken advantage of, called the Crime Victims Compensation program. If you're a victim of a crime, you can get lost wages from this fund or something. And it seems like being strangled and punched would constitute being a crime victim, right? Wrong. It's not a crime until I REPORT it as such. And I refuse to do that, for several reasons. One, the legal system could never torment Jake as much as he could torment himself. If he's paying lawyers' fees and court costs, or maybe spending a year in jail, he's free to blame ME for being a histrionic bitch and calling the cops on him. I won't let him spend his time blaming ME for his fucked-up actions. I spent nearly a year and a half being blamed for his legal troubles, and I'm not shouldering any more blame. Let him blame himself. Two: it is beneath my dignity to let a governmental agency "rescue" me. Frankly, it is beneath my dignity to let ANYBODY rescue me. Or take care of me. But, in particular, I think I'd rather cut my little toes off with a spork than have a fucking COP come to my aid, questioning my sanity all the while, and voicing his opinion that women who cheat on their men should get beat up. (They DO this, dammit... Olympia cops are RUDE motherfuckers with basically no decency...) And three: I made Jake a promise that I would never again involve the cops in any situation involving the two of us. Yeah, making that promise was basically giving him a free pass to do whatever he wanted to do to me, but I didn't figure it was a pass he ever intended to USE. Regardless, it takes a LOT to get me to break a promise.
And none of it is worth the money. Not to me. I WOULD be ashamed to take that kind of money. I gave my word that I wasn't going to make a police report, and my word was based on a well-examined, well-thought-out decision.
So, I have no job, and I have no money. And the $450 dollars I'd saved up is gone, because I gave it to Mrs. Jensen for "rent" for storage space in her trailer outside, so that she wouldn't throw all of my belongings in the trash. The $450, incidentally, I had been saving for a number of months, and I never touched it. I was saving it so that if I ever had a child, s/he wouldn't want for anything. I'm good at saving money like that. But, at the moment of reckoning, I thought it would be better if I gave the money to Mrs. Jensen -- that way, my baby wouldn't be affected by me having to start all over from scratch. I'd lose the $450, but I wouldn't have to spend years trying to replace all of my clothing and books and blankets and dishware, etc. It seemed like a bargain. I despise Mrs. Jensen for TAKING that money, knowing I had nothing else, and knowing what I'd saved it up for, but it was a bargain nonetheless.
So, I'm a welfare mom. They give me $70 dollars per month in food stamps. I can use that money on basically anything that's food. It comes out to approximately three dollars a day for food. If I eat three meals a day, that's one dollar per meal.
They give me $350 in cash assistance per month. Half of that goes to my rent. And as grateful as I am to have a place to live right now, it's too small. It sustains life, and I'm not in the rain, and that's a good thing. But it's not in ANY way a permanent arrangement. It can't be. Besides, my credit is apparently fucked, and so I can't even technically be on the lease. Because of THAT, there's an extra fee attached to the rent. After rent's paid, I have to think about transportation -- because busses cost money, and I refuse to stay in one place for an entire month. And I have to think about food. Because fucking hell, I am NOT going to subsist on Ramen noodles and water, day after day. I WON'T do it. I might do it if it were just me... But my kid deserves a little better than that.
So, I'm dead broke. I have friends who help me out -- always without me asking, which is wonderful, because I couldn't bring myself to ask anyway. But that's NOT really okay with me. Not on any sort of permanent basis. And right now, it sometimes seems like there's no end in sight.
I could try to look for a job... I have a place to live now, and an address and phone number I could put on a résumé. I could go job-hunting tomorrow, really. But who the fuck is going to hire a pregnant woman, knowing that I'm going to bail out in a few months? My qualifications don't mean jack shit when my belly's really starting to bulge out a bit... I don't look like a skinny chick with a belly roll anymore; I look like a skinny pregnant chick. Nobody hires pregnant women. And I don't blame them.
What depresses me is that I'd like to say: I've worked SO hard to get to where I'm at... And it's TRUE! I have worked my ass off to get to where I'm at! I spent three and a half years studying. I've spent more years than I care to think about doing shit jobs that were fucking degrading. I spent a few years working at stuff I really loved and getting REALLY good at it... I've spent a couple of years saving money for "necessities," and paying bills, instead of buying crap. I spent the majority of my student loans on Jake's whims instead of my own. I saved portions of paychecks when I could... And it's GONE. I have nothing to show for ANY of it. Shit, I didn't even GET my diploma when I graduated; presumably, the Jensens destroyed it, returned it to sender, or performed unholy rituals on it while watching Fox News and denouncing the liberal arts education. I've got nothing to show for any of what I've done.
And THAT is what I'm blaming my moodiness on this morning.
...Although I suspect that I had a couple of bad dreams that had something to do with it...
It's raining -- the nice, all-day, grey-skies, sweet-smelling kind of rain. It can almost be called rain, even by my standards (that misty shit that Washingtonians call "rain" is basically the equivalent of AIR to a native New Yorker...). I like it. Makes me feel like drinking tea and reading and listening to depressing music.
Gonna go eat one of my food stamp dollars now, and watch the rain...
~Helena*
PS... Until this moment, I don't think I've told a soul about this, but... Despite everything... I still have a tiny little bit of money I'm saving... If my kid wants to go to college, she's gonna get to go to college. I'm gonna make sure it's easier for her than it has been for me. It's not much -- not enough for more than a few days' worth of meals, even by welfare standards -- but I'm not gonna touch it. It's for her. It's hidden pretty well and I set up a payment system that I'm not letting myself out of... Believe it or not, I do actually feel really good about that.