Caterwauling

I don’t ever doubt that I’m smart enough or good enough or that people like me. Because I am smart enough and I like me just fine and I really don’t care about others all that much.

But every once in a while people find their way under my skin and I wonder whether their perception of my value is far less … or far greater and they don’t want me to ever, ever know that.

In my younger years, I remember taking on better jobs with more responsibility and more pay. And I always assumed that I’d keep moving up … keep making more … keep achieving more and keep earning my “Goddess” title.

And yet life hasn’t worked out that way. It’s been a lot of up-down-up-sideways-down-down-up. With some breaks in between with no income whatsoever.

I always feel poor, too. I grew up poor and even now, no matter how hard I work or how much I make, I see everybody else who might have had a better start in life … or who got started younger … or who doesn’t have more college debt than they started out with (thanks 9% interest rate) … who married well and didn’t have my expenses …

And I don’t get mad or sad or anything. But I do wonder whether it will all ever pay off or whether mediocrity is as good as it gets.

I like to think that the universe and most of the people in it serve to crush your soul to keep you from feeling not only worthy of more, but worthy of what you have.

Because, as said universe has proven many times, it can take it all away and leave you with less.

So yeah. These are the thoughts I think as I contemplate moving costs and taking on another ridiculous rent.

I have a situation that should stress me out. And yet it is not what stresses me out the most.

I think bad grammar will be the death of me before the situation moves my blood pressure a single notch higher.

What will also kill me is how I still haven’t given notice at my apartment that I’m leaving because Mom won’t let me.

Granted I’m still waiting to hear from the Evil HOA whether they deem me worthy of renting from a private owner on their grounds.

But Mom may have a point that Evil Landlady 6 / New and Probably Evil Landlord 7 (a man! A disheveled one too. He is scary-looking) could toss us to the curb a month before we’re ready. But damn, could I take the hit to my credit they could give me if I don’t sing the “So Long, Farewell” song?