Posted by: emjb | January 11, 2006

Apartment pimping; and self-bitch-slapping, yo.

As a way of getting our landlady not to be bitchy about us breaking our lease, we’re (or rather, I’m) running a craigslist ad and sending out emails to get her a new tenant. A 3-bedroom in Brooklyn that goes for 1100/month is a steal, so I’ve been getting lots of responses, although a few who came out last night apparently thought “3-bedroom” meant something larger than what I’ve got. No, you probably can’t fit your 4 teenage kids in here, lady, not unless you like tripping over each other. It’s small. That’s why it’s cheap.

I do try to warn them up front that there’s only one closet and a tiny bathroom and kitchen. Really, it’s best for 2 people or 3 people who don’t mind being cheek by jowl. Or a couple with a (one) small kid. I wouldn’t put two kids in there, they’d probably kill each other.

But what do I know. I don’t really care what people think, so long as somebody takes the place. I’m hoping to be done with it by this weekend, because I can’t really tear things up for packing and keep it clean at the same time.

I can’t wait to get out of here, really. I want to start job-hunting, and mostly, I want to be able to get out and about and not be so cramped up all the time. I’m a lame duck at work, I have no cash to go out and party, and I’ve seen every episode of Law and Order. I need some fresh air and room to breathe it in. New York is suddenly much too small and confining all of a sudden. I’m glad Nathan’s out of it for good. I don’t know how people bring up kids here, I really don’t.

Had to do a little talking to myself today, as my self-pity reached somewhat epic levels, and I started to feel like George Bailey deciding to toss himself off the bridge for insurance money.* Not suicidal, mind you, just sort of a general feeling that everything I’ve done has turned to shit and what was the point of my existence anyway, blah de blah selfpitycakes.

I was panicking about not getting a job, running out of cash, possible hospital bills, which would then tank my credit, we’d never get to buy a house, we’d have to live with our families and go on welfare, our car would get repo’d, and Nathan would be unhappy with his poor miserable parents. And all our blathering about trying to find work we loved would be exposed as a sham when clearly we ought to have aimed for lucrative fields which would have us sitting pretty by now, but no, we were stupid and now we’ll be Broke Forever and die early because we couldn’t afford life-saving surgery of some kind. And yes it would be our stupid healthcare-hating country’s fault, but it wouldn’t matter because we’d be dead.

Yes, this IS how my mind works, thank you.

And the thing is…well, at least some of those things could, possibly, happen. If we had enough misfortune, we could lose our car and go deep into debt for healthcare or some other reason and be, generally, fucked for a long time to come. But it’s not worth tossing myself off a bridge for. Poverty sucks donkey ass, and I have no desire to live in it, but I’m not going to give up and die because I might become poor. Provided I live long enough, I most likely will be able to claw my way out of most kinds of poverty, eventually. I’ve done it before. It’s even possible that by the time I’m old our country will have stopped sticking its head up its ass about healthcare, and fair taxation, and job creation, and a host of other issues that keep lots of people like myself on the edge of poverty all the time. It could get better, and I’d like to be around to see that.

*This bothers me, because insurers don’t pay out on suicides, something George would’ve known. He could have at least tried to make his death look like an accident.


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