Monday, February 02, 2015

Suicidal Musings:Towards a Theory of the Social Psychology of Poverty

I poured a glass of coke into a plastic 16 oz red cup that is generally reserved for parties by teens and college students.  It was actually my second glass.  The first coke is my coffee and the second is my breakfast.

Winter is upon us.  Outside it's cloudy, dark and dreary.  It's only 3, but looks like it's 7.

I just got a call that told me that my insurance has been cancelled and that I will need to purchase COBRA insurance.  I am sure that will be a huge cost.  My nurse that follows my case was the person that called.  Not my insurance company.  They were just not going to tell me apparently.  I'm calling them tomorrow to find out what's going on.

My debit card is expired which is good news.  It will cancel the paper subscription I have tried to cancel for over a year.

After my second coke I decided to go the store to purchase flour tortillas.  I buy the kind that are paper thin.  They expire on the 7th which means I will be eating lots of tortillas.  If you are from the north or simply don't have a lot of experience purchasing tortillas, let me tell you how.  Don't but the ones that are thick like cakes buy as thin as possible.  Thick tortillas are terrible and inauthentic. Abuelita would never make them so.

The line was long at Food City.  Someone had food stamps, but forgot their cash and had to put back laundry soap.  I waited for 15 minutes.  I did not have a basket and the weight of my few items grew heavy because  the chemotherapy and my inactivity has reduced my strength considerably.

Next I visited the Family Dollar Store.  I need a yellow marker for the online Marxist course I am taking.  Also a group of notebooks.  I get over charged for the college ruled paper but don't make a fuss.

The store plays Lorde's Royals in between telling you that shoplifting is a crime.  They have cameras watching and encourage you to say something if you see something.

Two groups of crack/meth addicts walk in.  Among the first group one blond woman in her late 30's or early 40's has a nice body.  Kept trim by her addiction I consider whether I would give her money.  Luckily I jerked off last night and my withered nutsack is only vaguely interested in getting released.  Money problems prevent me from spending on prostitution as well. I have no problem with paying for sex morally.  I think it empowers women. Prostitution is like an ancient form of Katy Perry.  Girl Power and shit.

Everyone at the Family Dollar store is poor.  Most do not try and hide it.  The checkout girl has rat hair swept up in a loose ponytail.  She offers a weary smile.  I think it hides an invitation,  Like I'm cute of something.  I can hear the plastic tubing of my TAC line rustling under my shirt.

I haven't bathed this week and my shirt has some kind of oil stain on it.  But I don't look any different from anyone else.  Most people in the store are out of fashion.  They wear ill fitting clothes,  They can't afford to go to laundromat.

Why must everyone look so sad?  Why must they look so poor?  Why are they drug addicts, immigrants, and homeless?

Why I am here? I guess I am one of them.  This idea makes me sadder.  I haven't had any pain pills or Xanax to counter their effects today.   I am susceptible to glomming onto their milieu.

Fuck it.  After I get my change I walk back to my car.

1 comment:

thimscool said...

I hear you.