Late Saturday Melancholy December 9, 2007

Ok. So I’m back.

I thought about my last post, for whatever ‘peppiness’ I tried to indoctrinate in that last post, I am lying. I didn’t feel sarcastically funny, or clever about anything. I’m hurting. And when I hurt, I cover it with little anecdotes, clever wordisms, and hurt some more.

This is the real Eclectopia, forget the Eclectic Utopian attitude I tried to convey from my first post.

My husband lost his job in September. He’s been there for ten years, working for a private investment house in Midtown. He wasn’t a trader, he worked in the mailroom, but the mailroom was good to him, good to us. He made a livable wage, plus annual raises, bonuses, holiday bonuses, surplus Christmas baskets. This was the kind of office that celebrated every birthday, real or pretend, like that episode of Girlfriends when Lynn pretended it was her birthday. Her co-workers found her out, but they celebrated her pretend birthday anyway, just for the sugar rush. When one of the kids were sick, they sent cards with everyone’s signature. They sent the nicest basket when Micah was born.

Then, it was all gone. Sudden. Poof. Just like that. I described it recently as the proverbial paycheck which keeps most people from homelessness. Our one proverbial paycheck disappeared. And things went down hill so fast from there.

Our first real issue was rent. Second was food, third was bills. Never mind September I was beginning my first semester back in college since I was 17 years old. Never mind Elijah, our preschooler was beginning school for the first time and we had no money for new clothes, or even secondhand clothes. Never mind Micah is growing faster than we can afford to clothe him. There was, and is, no money. Sometimes I feel, like today, there will never be any money.

We applied for food stamps. Media stereotype would have most people believe it is lazy Blacks and Hispanics on welfare. Stereotype would have you believe we don’t want to work, and we prefer to stay home all day watching Jerry Springer. A lot of people think to themselves, ‘It’s my tax dollars that pay for their laziness.’ For that, they resent us, I think. None of it is true.

I don’t want to go into Black history, or Hispanic pride, or anything like that. We aren’t lazy. We pay our taxes every year, and the federal government chopped up our paycheck just like they do everyone else’s. We’ve contributed to gross domestic product in our own little way, in our own little corner of the Bronx.

I am sad.

Back to the Food Stamps. We applied in September, and we haven’t gotten them at all when they said we would. Every month on the 5th, we look for those Stamps, and they’re never there. Our fridge spends more time empty than it ever has, and it’s painful to be creative with a few potatoes and bread. My children, thank God they are young, and I pray they will not remember this time of struggle when they are older.

I am angry.

I don’t even wanna write about this anymore. This hurts. Dammit, it hurts. I can’t wait til finals are over. It pulls my attention in all different directions. Like now, I’m thinking I should try and work some more on my paper. I’m writing about homeschooling, something I feel passionately about. It’s due tomorrow evening.

I also have to transcribe an interview I conducted today with the owner of Brownstone Books. That’s part of a larger project due Monday. I’m not too worried about this one though. It’s like 80% done.

Then there’s my Power Point presentation for another class. That’s due Monday, and I’ve got to come up with at least three more slides. Then there’s finals. When the semester is finally over, I am gonna kiss my kids, and take them to the movies.

If we can afford it.

Peace,

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