Not Even Bacon

Today started out fine, mostly good even. I did my routine search for jobs, applied where I could and then exercised. I was feeling optimistic and even a little fantastic. According to my latest accounting I have 10 days before I have to melt down. It was like one of those movie moments where the detective feels so good at closing the case. But then they look around and their eye focuses on something, a piece of paper maybe or there's a meaningful flashback...and then *BAM they got it! They were wrong! And they have to hurry before their partner/love interest is murdered by the real criminal (or even worse, their partner/love interest IS the murderer!!)! They rush from their desk and save the next victim just in time.



Well my life is something like that. At least the part where I looked down at my phone and I realized my latest accounting hadn't included my phone bill--yes, that is how close we are to melt down that my phone bill could push the whole thing over the edge. So I rushed over to the t-mobile website to put that payment on a different card--I had caught the error with only one day left!!! So I rushed to fix it. Except mom and dad's internet didn't exactly "rush". It mosey-ed. It took it's time. It stopped for pancakes. And then I spent a really long time trying to figure out what to do and waiting for the internet to do what I wanted it to. And I would have called t-mobile right away except I had started to cry.

I say I cry a lot but usually I mean I just leaked a little from my eyes in a brief but tidy fashion--usually at sentimental movies, tv shows, certain commercials, or if someone else is crying or talking about a time they have cried. But this has been some kind of epic crying. I mean I am getting a little dehydrated.

I hate even talking about financial stuff. I haven't been this broke in a long time and I don't even want to think about it. It's just that, if worse comes to worse and even McDonald's isn't hiring and I have a total financial collapse, the companies I need to pay aren't going to care. They'll send my case over to a mean collection agency where a really loud persistent person will call me up and tell me what a loser I am. I know someone who used to be a collection guy and this is what i imagine he did. And then I'll start talking to myself and develop a turning-tricks-on-the-street habit. And the collection agent will be my pimp. For real though, the guy I know is like one of those depressing short stories where the guy is really mean to everyone in a way that almost turns your stomach and then he goes to his empty house and talks sweetly and affectionately to his fish. And by the end you kind of like him but you really wish he wouldn't have said such awful things to the woman who was late on her credit card after having to pay for her husband's funeral.


I realized later that I was just so mad and scared at not being able to keep up. And I had such difficult thoughts of the type of people who can keep up and the kind who can't. And that maybe I wasn't going to be able to catch a break. Ever.


At some point, in the eye of the snot storm, after using half a roll of toilet paper to find the surface of my face, I was kind of hungry. So I went to make a turkey club bagel. I decided to go ahead and microwave the bacon (which is fine, but it's not quite as crispy). The turkey was bad, though, so I couldn't use it. And it was too weird to eat ham and bacon. And since the bacon was already cooked, it was what I was going to have to use. That and some cheese and a mealy slice of tomato. It's like a sandwich a chubby 11 year old would eat after a hard afternoon at the WI. I went to go sit with mom who was just sort of rousing after a long nap when I started crying again. I went in the other room and cried all over my bacon bagel. I couldn't even finish it. Things were bleak, I had even lost my will to eat pork.

Mom told me to go get one of the frozen lasagnas someone had made and on my way out she asked if i was alright. I said, "I'll go get the lasagnas!" in a voice that sounded like someone had set their piano on my throat. When the lasagna was in the oven mom came over to give me a hug and see if she could help with the snot-colored oil slick that was my face. Then she told me I had to return the newspaper I had accidentally taken from one of the neighbors mailbox. She asked if i had seen any help ads and I said only one that was interesting and she told me to call. "Well I would but I can't stop crying!!!" I told her. So she called. I read the number out loud to her in the smushed voice.



The worst of it is over. I have a little bit of a headache but the tears and the snot have ebbed. But I feel strong. I feel like Meg Ryan in Courage Under Fire when she's trying to figure out what to do and she's crying a little bit which someone gives her shit for and she yells at her team, "It's just nerves! It don't mean nothing!" and then she's really heroic. So I'm holding out for tomorrow. Another day to find a job. Another day to eat pork.