Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Please Wait For Your Hostess To Seat You

...It just occurred to me that friends, Romans, and countrymen who stumble upon this little blogspot shack might just get to wondering what's up with all this plasma talk. Well, kids, the reason is simply this: after recommitting to defending my dissertation this December, I had to cut out a serious amount of extraneous stuff in my life -- to wit, about 50% of my working hours, and hence, about 50% of my paycheck. I was never flush with the green anyway, but stepping down to part-time office work has really left me destitute. Were it not for a supportive roommate, faith in an inscrutable-yet-generally-caring-deity, and a place down the street that will tap my veins for that sweet, sweet plasma, I'd...well, it would be harder to fill up my car with gas when necessary. I just refuse to sell any more books or cds for cash. Only a few more months and I'll be able to put this whole thing behind me. I'll probably still be broke, but I'll be doing it with a freshly-minted doctorate, dammit.
...Let this be a lesson to you, kids. In fact, let this several lessons. One, don't fuck around [more than is absolutely necessary] during your grad school years. Poverty is poverty is poverty, whether you speak 5 languages or just one. You're not classing up the welfare rolls just because you read Rimbaud. Two, don't fuck around [more than is absolutely necessary] with your credit. Your parents may not have told you this, but Auntie MG will: pay your bills on time! And pay off your credit cards in full! Every month! No, I said EVERY month!
...Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying life is all about what you have. We don't need any help getting more materialistic. All I'm saying is, when a grown woman finds herself on a rainy Monday afternoon watching 2/3 of Sixteen Candles alongside 40 other sad souls hooked up to machines so that they can either eat, buy more meth, or get bus fare for the week -- well, something has gone wrong. There's the kind of being poor that's a function of being steadily exploited by your society (the people selling plasma because they work for minimum wage or less and just can't make it on that pittance) and there's the kind of being poor that's a function of me doing coke twice a week* for a couple of years. And that, kids, is the kind of poor that's my own damned fault.

* I kid, I kid. I was only doing coke like, once a month, tops.

No comments: