Tamponade: This is Not a Post About My Period.

             I think I had a heart attack today. Yes, I know. Overdramatic. But I really thought I was going to die on the streets of Philly. If you know me, you know my heart aches. Yes, it aches in that liberal-hippie-do-gooder-kind-of-way, especially if you’re furry, cute, and abandoned. But, I’m talking serious, hey maybe we should call 911, kind of way. But I do not call 911. Ever. Why? Because I have no health insurance. The thought of the ER bill alone would send me into cardiac explodium. Oh, and as a side note, I just discovered there is something called “cardiac tamponade.”  When life gives you menstrual cramps make tamponade! No, I’m not sorry.

Anyway…

                I am writing about this because I have to express the utter helplessness that I feel when my money is the reason I might have to die in front of the neighborhood children. I hope their parents have insurance, ‘cause they're going to need therapy after witnessing their first dead body at the end of their hopscotch blocks. Money literally controls my emotions and level of anxiety. Is that showing a definite relationship between money and the all-encompassing term that describes an unanxious, comfortable, worry free, light-hearted outlook, i.e. happiness? Yes. Yes, it does, and the Beatles can shut the front door. I would rather deal with my life problems from my second story balcony where I can peruse my paid bills, my car full of gas, my fridge abundant with victuals and libations, while choosing whether or not I’d like to do some sort of entertaining activity.

                But, you may say, don’t you want satisfaction in your career, personal life, and intellectual pursuits? Yes, asshole, I do. But I am achieving that just fine and I’m still broke. What good is my dream job if I get evicted? Who cares about that conference paper, because I’ll never present it with no money to attend said conference. Am I being really whiny, forgetting to look at all the good things I have going for me? Yes, and you can shut the front door too unless you’re going to let me borrow a couple bucks. It’s just not feasible for kids to make it on their own in the same way our parents did. And by kids I mean people out of college and/or grad school who are still struggling. There are a lot of us. More than I think is reasonable. We might be able to stand on one of our own two feet, and hop around a bit if our college debt wasn’t trying to smother us. Is college worth it? Yes. Do I regret grad school? Never. Am I on the have pity on me and buy me a sandwich diet? Pretty much. Sometimes I just need to complain in a semi-public, and mildly cathartic way. I hate money.  Thank God Clank is a dog and not a human child. I'd probably sell him if he was. Or make him get a job selling tamponade.