I'm pissed off

 The Falconess hangs in our living room.

The Falconess hangs in our living room.

Erté. One of my favorite illustrators, from one of my favorite times in art and design, the Art Deco era.

I bought this postcard at, I think, the Museum of the City of New York or another NYC museum. I think, there was a Hugh Ferriss  exhibit that Jared and I saw. [Check out a couple pieces of Hugh's work at the Cooper Hewitt Museum website.]

The card itself has the the golden yellow background. The brick red and brown are a matte from an antique frame I bought at a fleamarket.

Jared and I were poor, very poor at the time. Achingly poor. So very, very poor and underemployed and overtaxed by rent. Yet, we wanted to see the Hugh Ferriss exhibit badly enough. I bet we went on a "pay what you wish" night.

So poor, that we split packets of ramen noodles for dinner. Sometimes, we added frozen peas. Sometimes, we gave into hunger and heated up another packet.

Part of me thinks, yeah well, it wasn't that bad. Right? I guess? Another part of me thinks about how hard it was to find work and pay bills. Another part of me thinks at least I had a piece of lunchmeat on my sliced bread for lunch (and not another packet of ramen, like dinner).

Another part of me thinks we lived like royalty because we had a lot of love and a lot of heart. And still, we went through some sh/t at that time, being broke already, one of us getting sick, and losing work what little work was to be had because of illness.

Another part of me wonders, am I allowed to complain? Should I be less outraged?

I'll tell you this, living in poverty is mind warping. Poverty, want, need does things to you. So, when I look at a tax document from the US government and read: "No checks of $100 million or more accepted. The IRS can't accept a single check (including a cashier's check) for amounts of $100,000,000 ($100 million) or more. If you are sending $100 million or more..." my first response is "f/ck you".

Who? Lots of people. I am sometimes not exactly sure, but still "f/ck you".

In the midst of living on ramen and single slices of lunchmeat and love, Jared and I had to face that we could not make our bills. We had renewed our lease just a few months prior and now it was time to break it. To see if we could break it and hold onto our money. At least some of it.

I called our contact at the rental agency. I had so much f/cking pride and rage at that time, but I had to pretend like I had no pride. He came to our apartment. I groveled. I begged our case. Illness, not able to work. Not able to make bills. Borrowing money. The line has run out.

He said, "My partners want to know what kind of person would break their lease."

I stopped.

I blinked.

Had I not been a poor person needing to get out of a bad situation, had I not been wearing my mask of abjection, my bones would have exploded into thousands of poisonous splinters and destroyed that f/cking man and his city.

He was craven. A coward. Unable to tell me, who was verbally crawling all over the floor, begging to be set free, that he was annoyed, insulted, or god knows what because I was ruining his something or another. His partners want to know? what kind of person?

From the bottom of my white hot heart, "F/ck you".

I will also tell you this, I am pissed off. I am not going to woo-woo New Age my way out of this.

I hear Fred Cole of Dead Moon belting out, "I'm pissed off, I'm pissed off, I'm pissed off. It's just the way I am."

I say, HELL YEAH!"

And yes, friends, I am enrolled in a Mindfulness Program. It is starting soon. I am looking forward to it. And yes, I promise you, I will remain pissed off.