In my last year at Millersville I took two classes that I find myself thinking about as a work my two little jobs and remain well under the poverty line: Comm 401 with Dr. Greg Seigworth and Existential Literature with Dr. Ian Carballo.
In Comm 401 we read books, essays and had discussions about consumerism, capitalism and the idea of work. While taking this class I was also reading a CrimeThink books called Days of War Nights of Love, which raged against today's consumerist ideals. In Existential Literature we sought authenticity and encountered literature that (though not specifically existentialist) dealt with the work-a-day world: it is winter, how will I heat my house? what will I eat? how long will it take me to travel to work? if my car is out of gas, how will I get to work? These are all mundane questions, but they are authentic. These are the questions that have been constantly on my mind since I have been working 40 hours a week at an average of $8.75 an hour. I am one of the working poor.
When the economy started tanking several years ago, then-President Bush encouraged everyone to keep shopping to bolster the economy. But those that work in retail and similar fields, service industries that are capable of keeping our economy afloat, do not have retirement plans. Or health insurance. Or vacation or sick days. Making $15,000 a year they will never (or perhaps should never) own a home or be able to retire.
I know that I am merely visiting this place in my life and that I will soon be able to get a better job (knock on particle-board). But there are so many people that are scratching away at life's surface, trying to pull themselves up by their fucking bootstraps only to be given another bill that they will struggle to pay.
Oh look: $10 parking ticket received while checking email at the library because I cannot afford the internet. $40 to fill my tank with gas. One movie ticket is now $9.75. My credit card interest rate is 23.99% so the $5000 I have to pay off due to paying my rent and other bills with it while working my third unpaid internship will take me five years at the rate I am going.
Bitch bitch bitch. Boo hoo. Being broke is boring.
Dr. Rita Smith Wade-El taught a psychology class I was in where we talked about what it would take for a person to change their society. She said that big changes are usually made by people who are independently wealthy.
It is hard to start a revolution when you are worrying about having enough food to eat.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Baby it's cold outside
I am at my brothers house soaking up the delicious warmth of the internet. It is nice to be online stalking people, checking my pitiful bank statements and selling my belongings online.
I recently sold a necklace I had received as a gift 11 years ago. I got $14 for it and have been wrestling with that significance. On the one hand the necklace does not do me any good if I can't put gas in my car. One the other hand, it was a meaningful gift and $14 comes and goes with no meaning at all.
I am also thinking of cashing in my quarters. I have been collecting the state quarters since they started coming out like 10 years ago. I have tried to get 2 from each state: one from the Denver mint and one from the Philly mint. I think the value is less than $30, so again- would it really make a difference in my life right now? But does my little collection (still missing about 8 quarters) mean anything at all if I can't pay my rent?
My roommate Erika, experiencing a similar season, quipped that this is the winter of our discontent. For Christmas I got her fingerless gloves because we were talking about how things feel so post-apocalyptic right now (yes, we are dramatic little women). But in many ways I am content. Anxious and getting gray hair but not entirely discontented.
I live on the third floor of one of Lancaster's townhouses, complete with crooked windy stairs and a ceiling that slants. It is a darling design if you need the room for storage or for a sewing room. But since this is the room that is my entire home, I find it tedious and poetic at the same time. I spend more time thinking about how I will maximize the space in this room than I have ever spent thinking about any home I have ever lived in. Everything has to be just so.
To make the diagonal walls work for me, I pushed my bed into a corner facing the wall. On the back side of my headboard is my couch and a few feet away in another corner, my TV. I was proud of this feat since it gives the illusion of two separate living spaces. Plus I have never had a TV in my bedroom and did not want to start. I firmly believe that a TV in the bedroom is bad for your sleep. I have enough problems. I do not need to add troubled sleep to the list right behind TV addict.
A small window is visible when I am laying in bed. I can see rooftops and some wires but primarily I see the sky. It is comforting and makes me feel hopeful.
I recently sold a necklace I had received as a gift 11 years ago. I got $14 for it and have been wrestling with that significance. On the one hand the necklace does not do me any good if I can't put gas in my car. One the other hand, it was a meaningful gift and $14 comes and goes with no meaning at all.
I am also thinking of cashing in my quarters. I have been collecting the state quarters since they started coming out like 10 years ago. I have tried to get 2 from each state: one from the Denver mint and one from the Philly mint. I think the value is less than $30, so again- would it really make a difference in my life right now? But does my little collection (still missing about 8 quarters) mean anything at all if I can't pay my rent?
My roommate Erika, experiencing a similar season, quipped that this is the winter of our discontent. For Christmas I got her fingerless gloves because we were talking about how things feel so post-apocalyptic right now (yes, we are dramatic little women). But in many ways I am content. Anxious and getting gray hair but not entirely discontented.
I live on the third floor of one of Lancaster's townhouses, complete with crooked windy stairs and a ceiling that slants. It is a darling design if you need the room for storage or for a sewing room. But since this is the room that is my entire home, I find it tedious and poetic at the same time. I spend more time thinking about how I will maximize the space in this room than I have ever spent thinking about any home I have ever lived in. Everything has to be just so.
To make the diagonal walls work for me, I pushed my bed into a corner facing the wall. On the back side of my headboard is my couch and a few feet away in another corner, my TV. I was proud of this feat since it gives the illusion of two separate living spaces. Plus I have never had a TV in my bedroom and did not want to start. I firmly believe that a TV in the bedroom is bad for your sleep. I have enough problems. I do not need to add troubled sleep to the list right behind TV addict.
A small window is visible when I am laying in bed. I can see rooftops and some wires but primarily I see the sky. It is comforting and makes me feel hopeful.
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