black-bunny

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Tonight, tonight is strange

Sitting here at work, tax dollars not-so-hard-at-work, contemplating my life yet again.

(Now before you get all up in my face about me wasting time at work, I�ll have you know that I make it up in spades during our busy times to the point were I�m sure it�s taking years off my life, so shut the hell up, if you don�t like it, you come work here.)

I�ve spent a number of years being poor. What level of poor would be hard to describe.

In a subjective light, we always had a roof over our heads, we got gifts at Christmas and some new clothes just before school started.

Objectively, we lived well below the poverty line, meals were missed, as at some point there was no food at all. The new clothes that we got were the result of my mother scrimping for a full year and a paltry $50 to $100 per child (this was to dress us for a full year, including a winter coat) cheque from social services. To counter that, we would all move in with my mother�s boyfriend, until their relationship would become so toxic that they would break up, we�d move, and the cycle would start all over again.

I was told I was poor by my friends and treated as poor by my teachers who saw me as either an object of pity or contempt, sometimes both.

I personally, had no idea. I don�t think I ever sat down and thought to my self �Man, we�re poor�. I don�t think my mother ever used the word. My mother always said �We�re broke.�

I had a father who refused to pay alimony or child support, but expected us to stay with him on the holidays and weekends. I had a filthy cousin who told me that I had to act very, very grateful for a pair of Converse shoes I wanted for my 13th birthday because it was putting my father out 40 bucks. Yet, I didn�t feel anger for his lack of responsibilities until years after I left home.

My father, in one of his frequent fits of delusional �generosity� promised me $1000 upon graduation. I managed to hold him to it, even though he made sure that despite his joyful and proud exterior, he was severely �put out� by coming up with money for the daughter that never asked for anything except pocket money and the occasional pair of stylish gym shoes. It paid first and last on two rooms where I lived. On my first year of college, my mother and step-father bought me 1 month of groceries and things like towels and cleaning supplies. My second year of college, as a gift for returning to collage, he refused to let me pay back the $700 I had borrowed from him for the first semesters tuition.

In total, I�ve received 2 grand in �handouts� I didn�t get grants for school, because you had to apply for them and usually write a small essay about why you deserved free money. I didn�t have anything to offer, so I didn�t apply. I didn�t get a chunk of money taken off my then-staggering amount of student debt because, despite my high marks and hard work, the fact the I left the program excluded me from the pat-on-the-head that everyone else got.

I lived on welfare for a couple of years. At least on welfare my birth control was paid for. Really, do you really want a welfare recipient reproducing?

I lived off minimum wage for a couple of years as well, in between end and beginning of semesters. My big break came when I landed some temp work at $11 per hour, almost twice what I made on minimum wage.

What the point to all this?

I�m not poor now.

I make good money. I have a good, hopefully secure, job. The debts I have come from things I directly benefited from, like my education, my computer, my holidays and my RSPs.

I own nothing, except my clothes and my furniture.

I spend all my money all the time. But I know the difference between being broke and being poor.

I get my pay cheque and I see how much they take off in taxes, close to half. It surprises me, but I don�t dare complain. Money from other people�s cheques kept me alive for years, I am only too happy to give that money back. A portion of my cheque goes to the United Way for families in this area.

I managed to get two things in life that I strived for, educated and gainfully employed. (Strangely, those two things aren�t intimately related.)

I always thought that I would be happy once I had attained those two things. Once it was clear that I had indeed reached my goals, I hit the worse depression I have ever had. (It was brought to my attention that I had been depressed before, and not what I described as �a period of fussyness�.)

Funny, isn�t it. Almost everything I wanted in life was in my lap and all I wanted to do was die.

But eventually, it went away.

I�m getting my proverbial shit together, once again, and I think I getting happy again.

I think it�s because, once all the other stuff got out of the way, I finally had a chance to grow.

I grew these last two years. I can barely believe it, but I did.

1:25 a.m. - 2004-11-11

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