being poor is nothing to be afraid of

broke

This may not be the nightmare I expected, but it’s sure no picnic. Seriously, don’t try this at home, you won’t like the lifestyle. It’s a hard slog.

See, when you’re poor, life becomes a tedious do-it-yourself proposition. There are no more cleaning ladies or dry cleaners, no restaurants or plumbers or doctors or hair stylists; none of those wonderfully helpful people who made life so easy can help you now. They cost money, my friend. You’re on your own.

And in a world with the volume turned up. Oy. Maybe I’ve just forgotten, but everything seems so loud. There’s always  a commotion or a racket or a hoopla and I’m not the one making it. How do you make it stop? I can’t find the off switch. 

I live in a crappy apartment, that’s the problem, with people on either side of me and directly overhead. My neighbors are, I hate to call them dickheads, so how about insomniacs? They’re the type who shower at 2:00 in the morning and hang pictures in the gray half-light of dawn. Big, lumbering, roly-poly folks who stress the ceiling  until it shrieks and cracks like thunder.

And here’s the topper: We’re being renovated.

I heard ferocious battering on the walls when I was drying my hair. So I came out of the bathroom slowly and with my hands up. I assumed  it was a SWAT team, but it was just a construction crew. Hey, don’t judge, it was 7:00 in the morning. They were replacing the windows with sledgehammers.

The windows look nice, though. I wonder if they’re bulletproof? That’s a fair question, since gunshots are more common than the Good Humor truck in this neighborhood. Like I said, noisy.

Know what I miss about my old life? Television. Wait, the Internet. No, it has to be Starbucks. Or books — I loved buying big, tall stacks of books. That was my weakness.

Pfft, I got it. What I miss is money. Duh, right?

money bag

copyright © 2014 little ittys

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