Ok, so I can't stop thinking about it. Every day when I get up that's one of the first thing that runs through my mind as I mull over my ever-expanding day. Those thoughts rattle around until about 10 or so every morning.
You see, my house is almost 40% under water, 36% to be exact. I pay more than 1500 monthly on my student loans, and Pa has this condition and he can only work part time. Grandma Kettle has drug induced Parkinson's and Alzheimer's and I am the only living relative she has. So, I took another full time job. I tried to refi when Pa went to part time. By the time they got around to my papers I had already landed the second job. My debt to income ratio was just fine they said.
I also teach for several universities as an adjunct. I took on as many as would hire me. Right now I have courses at three other colleges running. I'm constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. If anybody ever says anything to me, even constructive criticism at work, I spin into a funk that lasts for days. I've had trouble eating lately. Pa has noticed a little, but he doesn't say much.
You see, I know this is what they want. They want us to think about the things I think of in the morning. My bedroom is on the second floor; the window has no screen. My stove is gas, the boys could go to a movie . . . It only takes thirty days without food . . . If I veered into a semi on the highway would anybody think I hadn't just gotten sleepy. . . ?
I know that is what they want. I am loathe to give it to them. But if it looked like an accident, the insurance would kick in . . .
But what I seek is relief, and none of those things will provide that. My mind has run out of options; I know that is what has happened. I have struggled with depression for years, and I know that is what is talking to me in the morning. It isn't reason, no matter how it rationalizes these thoughts. Pa doesn't know this but a few months ago I actually went to a psych. I didn't like the guy and felt it was a waste of time and money; commodities of which I have very little. He spoke in calming tones about "seeing the world in a different light," and how "workaholics usually cannot see what they are doing to themselves." What a jackass, like I want to work like this! I never went back.
I know that others must feel this way. I know that there are thousands of people who would give their kidney to work as hard as I do. I would give a kidney for a cram down.
This is what we have come to. Not enough jobs, resources, healthcare, infrastructure, patience or patriotism. Not enough of anything but desperation and bitterness. Does anyone even care? To me that is what #ows is about. People are hurting; people like me. I know others are worse off than I am; usually I feel like a big whiner when I talk to others about this which means that I just don't talk to others about it. At least this provides a veil of anonymity.
If I were not desparately trying to hang on to my house I would be with MoT, or the movement closer to my state. If I didn't have mouths to feed . . . but what am I saying? If I didn't have mouths to feed I would be even more interested in my bedroom window. Or perhaps I would be more willing to just walk away from everything. The mouths I feed are truly the only reason I go to work, and to work, and to work, and to work, and to work everyday. The reason I continue to breathe on a regular basis.
That is what is so heartbreaking about that 53% young man. He is me 15 years ago, except I was less judgemental (at least I like to think that I was). What would he say I wonder? I imagine that it sounds much like what my aged aunts used to say when I was small. "Idle hands are the devil's playground," or prehaps "the best therapy is hard work," or my grandfather's favorite "hard work never hurt anyone." I know that last one isn't true, but that knowledge doesn't stop the words for rattling around in my brain. I feel guilty even just writing this when I should be grading papers, cleaning house, visiting my mom, helping my kids with homework, figuring out how the hell I am going to pay bills and buy food. Herman Cain would say "blame yourself" and I do. If I could work harder, longer, find yet another adjunct position, if I had not dropped out of my Ph.D. program when Pa got sick, if only I had done things differently . . .
I got a call from the dentist Friday that the insurance company from F/T job number two has disenrolled me from the insurance for some reason. My one working credit card notified me Saturday that I have almost reached my limit. The fan motor for my central heat and air just burned out yesterday.
My youngest has a birthday Thursday. What in the world am I going to do? How am I going to make this a "celebration"?
Would filing for bankruptcy help at all or leave me in the same position? At this point I am about out of other options. That is why those thoughts roll around like marbles in my head; bumping up against sanity and reason and denting them. Is this how insanity starts I wonder?
Another student just walked in . . .back to work.