Apparently it doesn't take me very long to have a complete upheaval in my emotional state of well being. I woke up this morning with the intent of going out to breakfast with a friend and her parents only to find out that I am, yet again, broke, thanks to the weekend's onslaught of bill paying and grocery buying.
Every ounce of the previous day's optimism vanquished from my body in such a raging fashion that I wasn't sure if my windows were fogging up from my 1920's steam heater or from me. Laying in bed, I cringed as I had to text my friend to let her know that I will indeed, not be making breakfast, because my bank account isn't going to let me.
And so, like I always do whenever I realize how poor I am, I go into a downward cycle of shame, guilt and frustration (Much like my friends did two nights ago). Pulling my covers over my head, I curled up in a ball and tried to figure out how the hell I got here. I graduated from a great school but don't have a real job. Heck, I held better jobs during the summers while I was in school. Now, I find myself applying for crap jobs like being a pet sitter or customer service representative because those are the only jobs I feel qualified to do, regardless of my degree from said great school. My fridge, much like my recent stores of hope and optimism, are empty and I simply do not have the funds to refill either of them.
How am I going to eat? How am I supposed to pay rent? These questions filter through the melee going on between my emotions and my logic while I try to figure out just how much longer I can hold out living here on my own in Portland with a 20-hour a week part time job.
The answer (sigh) is January, if I spend no more than $12 a day. It seems doable; it really does. But what if it isn't? What if I fail and have to move back home?
Every ounce of the previous day's optimism vanquished from my body in such a raging fashion that I wasn't sure if my windows were fogging up from my 1920's steam heater or from me. Laying in bed, I cringed as I had to text my friend to let her know that I will indeed, not be making breakfast, because my bank account isn't going to let me.
And so, like I always do whenever I realize how poor I am, I go into a downward cycle of shame, guilt and frustration (Much like my friends did two nights ago). Pulling my covers over my head, I curled up in a ball and tried to figure out how the hell I got here. I graduated from a great school but don't have a real job. Heck, I held better jobs during the summers while I was in school. Now, I find myself applying for crap jobs like being a pet sitter or customer service representative because those are the only jobs I feel qualified to do, regardless of my degree from said great school. My fridge, much like my recent stores of hope and optimism, are empty and I simply do not have the funds to refill either of them.
How am I going to eat? How am I supposed to pay rent? These questions filter through the melee going on between my emotions and my logic while I try to figure out just how much longer I can hold out living here on my own in Portland with a 20-hour a week part time job.
The answer (sigh) is January, if I spend no more than $12 a day. It seems doable; it really does. But what if it isn't? What if I fail and have to move back home?
My mom says this doubt and uncertainty is part of growing up and I am certain she is right. I just wish it didn't kick my ass so much.
And so, feeling completely defeated, I'm just going to curl up and watch more Grey's Anatomy. I guess there's some sort of relief in watching people save other people's lives, even if it is just on TV.
And so, feeling completely defeated, I'm just going to curl up and watch more Grey's Anatomy. I guess there's some sort of relief in watching people save other people's lives, even if it is just on TV.
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