Hallelujah Breakdown

My first Pastor used to call them that. Pretty indicative of his state of mind at any given time, but I was 16 yrs. old at the time and had no way of knowing.

Today I went to the Human Resources Administration up in West Hell to try to parlay my request for another One-Shot Deal on my rent into an ongoing request for Rental Assistance. I gave up on the second One-Shot request because the tall pup handling my case told me point-blank not to return to complete the process if I couldn't come up with July's rent in a money order by July 6th. Well, given the problems I'd been having with my kids-chasing job, it was a longshot. That job has been like Lucy with the football, and me as Charlie Brown. One week they withheld my check because I didn't fill something out correctly, or at all. The next week, they withheld my check because they THOUGHT I didn't fill something out. The following week the mail never arrived--still hasn't, despite that I sent it Priority Mail with delivery confirmation. Yes, I called to track it, and it's true. The Post Office lost my large, red, white, and blue envelope with the words PRIORITY MAIL on it. You see, as they explained it to me, they don't guarantee anything but Express Mail, but they'll begin an investigation of the lost package in 14 business days. So they'll start the investigation tomorrow. Meanwhile, the job fronted me the money and now they believe I lied when I gave them a sob story. For all they know, I'm a crackwhore transvestite with a sugar daddy paying my cellphone bill. But when I'm not having problems of that nature, the kids just plain bug out on me. I suck, so they don't want me to be their counselor. No, that's not true. They just don't want a counselor. I don't totally suck.

With all this money juggling, I barely managed to pay June's rent, cannot pay July's, and couldn't put a dent in the outstanding balance.

So on July 6th, which came after the vignette that I posted about trying to get the right kind of picture taken, I got a haircut, took an adquate picture, drove my car to my favorite neighborhood (just because it's my favorite neighborhood) and for two hours hunted down a Notary Public to ratify before mailing away my final piece to the NY license puzzle. When I went back to my car, it was gone. I parked it too near a fire hydrant (apparently not to MY estimation) and the ticketing officer ran my plates, found that I still owe outstanding tickets, not to mention new ones, and had the sheriff come and take it on it's second trip to the pound. Despite all my plans, I hadn't made enough money to pay off the outstanding tickets, not to mention the new ones. So I ignored them all this while. And it caught up to me.

I walked home from my favorite neighborhood, a mere 70+ blocks. Kid stuff. I'd done it last summer when life had just begun to kick up the suckitude. What was I feeling? I was feeling relief. It was an ironclad excuse to get out of chasing them kids in Jersey. No car, no job. No job, no chance of failure. Shame, because after all the hours that I didn't get, I had one kid left who wanted me to increase my hours because he liked me that much. Yeh, and that's actually because I was acting as a mentor with him, rather than a counselor. I just took him out and we played basketball, or I'd watch him play with the other kids. I was a glorified babysitter who didn't bust his chops too much. For this I was getting paid $60.00 an hour. Yeh, and if I'd gotten all the hours I was hunting, I'd be sleeping on a mattress of money, paying back my friends and keeping the hounds at bay. Mm hmm. They pay $60.00 an hour because you pay for your own gas and tolls, and if you buy any food or recreation costs (when 'counseling' a ten year old starts to become very much like amateur dentistry), that comes out of your pocket too. So this time out, I was keeping an accounting of my expenses. I haven't totalled it yet, but by the tolls alone, I had to have shelled out $300.00. Why'd I think it was a good move? Bah. Because I needed to. I needed faith to get me through that second eviction hearing.

Now there's a registered letter waiting for me at my local post office. Yeah, THAT they don't lose. I suspect it's an eviction notice from the new landlord. They were going to work with me, and I was going to pay July's rent, and then hoped a One-Shot Deal would make up the rest of my arrears. Didn't happen.

Anyway, this morning, I found out that I have to wait until they've denied my One-Shot Deal again before I can attempt to try to get ongoing rental assistance, and that reactivating my Food Stamps will require me doing an entirely new process (even though I never did one before--it was issued to me based on my first application for the One-Shot Deal, which I ALSO didn't get).

So I came back home because I just didn't want to deal with it again. There was standing room only in the Food Stamps place. And after loitering around my apartment all weekend and all week last week, in fact (especially after I lost my car), I felt too guilty to do it again today.

So what'd I do? I emptied all my bookshelves and packed all the books away. I bought a Clorox wet head mop (I have money, just not enough to pay rent). I'm preparing for the worst. I will next clean all the dusty, empty bookshelves, and my entertainment center. Dust is actaully dead skin cells you know. I've enough in here to make another me. Lord, that's ALL I'd need. Then I'm going to clean these floors with my new mop.

So from the time I had gotten back from West Hell and began to undertake this task of battening down my hatches, I downloaded some old Christian music CDs to my comp and made a playlist to accompany my labor. Oh, I got some good stuff palying on this machine. I wish I could share it with you. You've never heard anything like it. A Norwegian choir singing R&B Gospel and tearing it UP. (I found it! Check it out! Except the links don't play. Wah!) Cindy Morgan's stuff from the nineties when she debuted as Christian Music's answer to Janet Jackson. (Oh, I was so holy back then, I'd never have approved, but she won Dove Awards with her funky stuff. And every song having lyrics to sweep you into the throneroom of God.) All day I'm, singing and bopping and packing my books away. All day I'm reaffirming that, yes, actually, I am a Christian, thank you very much, and yes, He WILL never stop loving me, okay?, and Blessed Is The Heart That Gets Broken, But Keeps Holding On/For Another Day/Cause That's What It Means To Live/By Faith, I'll have you know.

It wasn't until my back started groaning like I'm 40 yrs old or something that I sat down at the computer and had a Hallelujah Breakdown. Sweet tearful release of the Me That Used To Be. The budding young minister with his eyes on God. With a heart to help the people, and not just squeeze them for every drop of money I can get out of their misery (well, that's not me--let me stop being so dramatic). Even my cat got concerned and jumped up in my lap to see what all my fuss was about.

It was part Manic Phase and part stress release, and part soul crying out to come back to God.

I hope I was listening.

Later this week, I shall be returning to Starbucks. I have already spoken to my old manager, and she's ready to give me what little she has and farm me out to another store, plus I'm going to farm myself out to whatever Starbuck has an open shift. I'm going to keep Thursdays and Fridays open for resting, except I'll continue to have clients in the Jersey private practice because I can reach that place by NJ bus transit. And I've mailed in for two low-income housing projects they are working on here in my neighborhood from the renovations of these buildings in hopes that I get one of them by the end of the year. If so, I could afford that rent even on Starbucks' pay--and even better if I get rental assistance!

I'm turning into a flat-out welfare recipient.

AND?

Me at 7/11/2005 05:24:00 PM

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