Rodney called again today, like he does every week to check on me. Such a nice boy. I became acquainted with him about three years ago. Every Wednesday morning, like clockwork, my phone rings. Recognizing the number on the caller I.D, I usually answer it “This call is for Say-ra Car-pin-tar, if you are not Say-ra Car-pin-tar, please hang-up. If you are Say-ra Car-pin-tar, I need to ad-vise you,” blah, blah, blah. My name is a grand total of five syllables, it’s not exactly a tongue twister, yet Rodney always seems to fuck it up. The way he pronounces it makes me think he learned everything he knows about diction from a Speak & Spell. I have never actually seen Rodney, but if by happenstance I struck up a conversation with him in a smokey bar, I might assume that he had a different profession. His deep, monotone voice, automated personality and strange speech patterns are reminiscent of…someone who makes a living…I don’t know…sucking dicks in exchange for crystal meth.
Rodney has been my “account advisor” on a credit card account gone horribly wrong for quite some time. He works for a law firm in the area that has been given the posthumous assignment of trying to get me to pay the money back. I’ve always been incredibly honest with him. “Yeah, I can’t pay you, Rodney. It was looking good for a while, but not so much anymore.” I said this week. I’m not lying, things were looking up. I was given a raise and full-time hours at my current place of employment. The raise I was planning on, the full-time gig was quite by accident.
The month of May has taught me many an important lesson, the most poignant? Humans are extremely flammable, especially when they are coated in gasoline. I have a co-worker, who is a lovely woman with a charming British accent and two grown children. Both of her children live halfway across the planet, one of them owns a farm and I assume, also has a charming British accent. While working on the farm a few weeks ago, she decided to clear some brush by burning it. The ground was moist and to speed up the process she added an accelerant, everything was going to plan until the wind shifted, thereby causing her and the brush to burst into flames. Can you say ouch? Yeah, it’s a terrible situation. I was asked to fill in for my co-worker while she tended to her daughter.
I’m not a monster, I was in no way doing a happy dance because someones life took a turn for the suck. I wasn’t sitting around thanking the heavens that I was going to be able the capitalize off of misery, but I was glad that I’d be able to help out the nice people I work for and put in a few more hours. I was kinda feeling like I was going to be able to get back on track, save some money and pay some things off. That feeling lasted all of 96 hours, it ended abruptly when my grandmother died.
My grandmother, in addition to being the woman that birthed my mother, was also my tenant. She lived in my condo with her full time caregiver. In exchange for not having to live in one of those boarding schools for old people, she helped me with the bills there. Her passing has put me in a financial situation that “fucked” can’t begin to describe. Thunderfucked doesn’t even cut it. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.
I dealt with deafening sonic boom of reality crashing down on my face the way every 33 year old woman living in my body deals with stress, I drank a bottle of wine…then decided to file bankruptcy. It seems like the cowards way out, I don’t particularly like the thought of this. There just doesn’t seem to be any way around it. I keep reminding myself it’s like every event in life. Millions of people have done it before me. Millions of people are doing it right now, but for some reason I feel like it’s a private psychosis. Weddings, babies, divorces…most of us have been through something like this…but we all tend to act like these events are life experiences that only we’re having when we’re going through them.
After speaking with an attorney, I found out…that I don’t have enough money to file for bankruptcy. How fucking hilarious is that? I’m so screwed that I can’t even legally claim that I haven’t got a damnthing [intentional omission of space for comic effect]. I have to save money to claim I have none…is anyone else laughing at the irony here?
I probably should have kept this to myself, but then that applies to a lot of things in my life. I decided to share. For the past few years, I’ve been making myself sick worrying about financial obligations. I’m tired. I want out. I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. I concluded, in the company of both Ernest and Julio Gallo, that this is bullshit and I shouldn’t have to spend my whole life worrying. While I will miss my Wednesday’s with Rodney, I know he’s only calling for one thing. He’ll have to find someone else.