the struggle

Today I am struggling.

On Monday, I went to a bankruptcy hearing. I'm bankrupt. My creditors have 60 days to dispute the bankruptcy and then...I'm just a woman who went bankrupt. And I'll have ten years of saying "I went bankrupt in 2012" when I try to purchase a car or take out a loan or maybe even when I apply for credit cards, who knows?

This is a mar on my brain. Bankruptcy. I went out to dinner with some friends the night of my hearing and I cut up my credit cards at the table at BJ's. A friend whisked the pieces away and said she would make a necklace of them.

So far, the worst part of bankruptcy isn't anything that happened in court, or anything that happened on paper, it's what happened in my head. I gave up. I believe in the struggle. I don't believe in walking away from obligations. I wanted to overcome. Promises are made to be kept.

You don't go bankrupt. It's shameful. I am ashamed.

They say that my job now is to learn from the experience. Pay down balances, don't buy anything you can't afford, don't borrow. It's true. And sometimes I'm struck because I've realized that $40,000 I used to owe to the banks is gone now. That I make money and spend the money I make, and there are no cards, I don't owe anyone except the mortgage company and the government (student loans).

I wasn't addicted to shopping. I didn't accumulate these bills because I went on crazy shopping sprees, buying shoes or jewelry or purses. I just didn't make enough money, and my partner has always been unhappy about that, and it's a conflict  in our relationship still. And when something needed to be bought, I just bought it. Groceries. Gas. Whatever.

When it came time to move to California, I bought first and deferred payment to later. And then it got to where I could only afford the minimum payments on my cards, and I was literally going to have debt for the rest of my life but still, I was ok until last fall, when the company that I wrote freelance for made a major overhaul to their policies, and my second income dried up. By the time my writing income came back, I was already behind on my bills and owed thousands of dollars just to catch up, and my credit was ruined already. And I talked to those debt management companies. The charge was going to be something like $800 per month just to pay off the cards, I didn't have that.

So there was this choice to make. No, there wasn't even a choice. There was no money to pay the card companies. My system for the last several years had been to pay the minimum balance on every card every month, thereby freeing up a small amount of space on that card, and then using that available credit to buy my groceries and food. Without room on my credit cards to pay for groceries, I had no money to pay the minimum balance due on the cards. It was a stupid cycle to have gotten into, but it happened and then once it had happened, there was just no way out.

So I went bankrupt. After years and years of paying credit card companies, I threw up my hands and went bankrupt. And I'm trying to learn from the experience. I've been told by the lawyers to get a credit card and pay down the balance every month, to build back my credit.

Today I'm not feeling the relief of being debt free, I'm feeling sad. I want to have another baby. I want to earn enough money to have a baby and then go back to work and pay for childcare, yet there's not enough. We need money for child care, and I have almost no savings, and probably $800 worth of repair to do on my car, and I've just gone to a bankruptcy hearing. I'm almost 32 years old now.

I'm a secretary. My second job, freelance writing, doesn't pay enough. My third job has never gotten off the ground--partially because I can't even decide what that is. Illustration? Portrait painting? children's book writing?

There's not enough time. Never enough time. Working full time and working a second job just to supplement my pathetic income leaves me with no time to spend on a third job. And without a third job, how will we ever have another baby?

I was cleaning up the garage last night. It's full of Curly Sue's toys. She almost never gets the chance to play with toys because she spends so much time either in trouble, or struggling through homework. Curly Sue is at sleep away camp right now, and seeing her toys made me miss her. And, with so many disused toys in the garage, I started to think about all the time CS doesn't spend playing with them, and I started to feel this terrible sense of doom. I want the best for her but don't always feel as if I can do well for her. She should play more. Life should be happy for her. But our time at home so often comes to an argument. I'm also worried about her work ethic. Hell, I'm worried about my work ethic. There are so many people I let down. So many things I can't seem to do. So many ways I disappoint myself. I didn't buy my mom or dad a gift on mother's day or father's day. I haven't talked to some of my friends in weeks or months. I was given an award at work recently and I'm worried I've squandered what could have been a financial leg up by not making my writing quota this July. 

God, I'm getting all worked up now. These things are all circling my mind. I am debt free. I am ashamed. my career is flat. I want a baby. I want the best for my daughter. I am afraid. I am sad.

I should probably go take 15 minutes to calm down. In my favorite spot.

I'm so lost.

Had a good conversation with a friend yesterday, and he's inspired me to spring into action. Illustration.

With RH and CS gone, I have three weeks to draw a collection of illustrations, which I plan to post on my art blog, and hopefully use as a start for my portfolio, leading to some future career in some kind of...art. Drawing story boards? Illustrating books or book covers? CD covers?:) Whatever.

It's going to start with my man, Walt Whitman.

There he is. The man. The gateway drug for gay people (see, Art of Fielding). I'm planning to illustrate passages from Leaves of Grass, using pen and ink. I spent my time at my favorite spot today picking passages:

"I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease... observing a spear of summer grass... "

"Or I guess the grass is itself a child...the produced babe of vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, and it means, sporting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, growing among black folk and white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves."

And so on. To anyone who has never picked up a copy of Leaves of Grass, I urge you to do so.

At this moment this morning, I am feeling energized and ready, ready to start anew and do things right. To support my family, to use my time wisely, to hug my daughter more, to spend more time looking up at the sky, to contact old friends and keep up with them finally, to read more and try more and do more, to be more. To always work, always play, always produce.

Which reminds me of that moment in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Francie Nolan, sitting at her desk on the day that the US has entered World War I, trying to create a living memory of the moment she read the news. She begins to become internal and abstracted, and this is the passage:

“Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.”

The entire passage is very reminiscent of Walt, who is even referenced in that section, I believe.

When I die, I wish to have some passage of Leaves of Grass read at my funeral (or wake, or party, or whatever). And then I used to tell Ms. RH that I wanted to be cremated and the ashes scattered in Boston Harbor, where we used to live directly after college. I'm not sure this is what I want anymore--it's a little impractical because I'm living on the west coast now, and I don't even have relatives on the east coast, so anyone who wanted to come see the scattering would have to pay for plane tickets and hotels to be there and I don't want to ask that of anyone.

Luckily, there is time to think this over. And in the end, I'm not sure it matters one way or the other. Really, I'll be dead. Dead and occupied with something else by then. As Walt says (grossly paraphrased), I'll be grass under bootsoles. Drifting on the wind.

All goes onward and outward...and nothing collapses, and to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

Strange weather

This summer, as with many summers, I will be alone on Lammas. RH and CS often leave for weeks at a time during the summer, to visit our relatives in the midwest. I don't have much money, so I often stay behind to work and save and get things done around the house.

I will celebrate on my own. I plan to make some corn dollies and a stew, so that I can eat the leftovers in the days after my celebration.

I haven't been posting much because I've been busy, but I've been doing daily meditations in my spot (see the picture, taken a few days ago).

RH and CS leave this weekend, and I'm going to be doing several rituals around the house, including a cleansing ritual in the kitchen, and probably a more personal cleansing ritual, the details of which I have not decided upon.

Summer is a strange time for me. Most summers come and go so quickly. At my office, the people I work for are largely gone and I am alone to spend my time as I please. I always start the summer with a long to-do list, and yet I end up accomplishing what feels like very little. The end result is a feeling of happy laziness and suppressed anxiety.

Now here it is, July, and already I feel as if this summer is a missed opportunity, like it has gone already, and I have missed my chance to get work done.

During my 15 minutes every day, I try to calm myself, and summon the energy to buckle down and deal with the tasks that must be dealt with.

I'm carrying around a green crystal today. To calm myself and focus my energies. I hold it in my hand and breath deeply.

Messy life.

I'm going bankrupt. I could explain why (uhh...I don't have money? yeah but more specifically) but I don't want to. Bottom line: it is happening. Good news: I get to keep the house. Bad news: I have to bear the shame of going bankrupt. Other good news: I get a fresh start, financially speaking. I am finally solving my financial problems. Other bad news: going bankrupt goes against everything I was ever taught. My midwestern sensibilities say that I'm a failure. Possibly, my midwestern relatives would say this as well.

Over the 4th of July I tried to pay the mortgage, only to find out my mortgage company disabled my access to the account and I can't make the payment.

After having a mild heart attack, I sent a panicked email to my lawyer at 11 at night. First thing, I asked flat out: I DO get to keep the house, yes??

I woke up at 7:30 the following morning with knots in my stomach and a response from my lawyer, bless him for responding to me on a holiday. He reassured me that I will be able to keep my house, my mortgage lender's behavior is not unusual and I simply need to give them a call.

I showed up at the bank today to drop off the mortgage check and waited in a line that would make the DMV proud. After a long wait, I was told I need to speak with a rep at the desk. I am still here, still waiting. My one hour lunch period has been almost two hours long and there's no end in sight. Gods get me out of here.