December 5th, 2001

Chalkboard

(no subject)

I'm on the phone ordering Christmas gifts for people. I don't have any money to spare. Money is really tight for me right now, thank God for eBay. I have money, but my Mother controls it, and she is very, very paranoid and nervous about spending money. Maybe she's right, I understand that some people become wealthy by hanging on tight to what they have, but my family could have made so much more money had they been less afraid and been willing to take a few risks. They prove the adage Penny Wise Pound Foolish.

Anyway I just called my bank to see if the money I get from my property, the rent from the nude bar, weee, had come in, I've been waiting for this for weeks, and I get the fabulous news that it's about half gone already. My account was overdrawn, and the bank charged me tons of fees. Shit. So depressed. Anyway in this state of heightened money anxiety I am totally relying on the credit card my Mother reluctantly allows me to use. Although one of the things she likes to do is have her secretary randomly report it as stolen just to rein me in a little more. She tells me to use it to buy all of her Christmas gifts for Beau and for me, and then gets mad at the cost. This little money game has been going on for years and years, since I was in my teens. I'm so sick of it and yet I'm embarrassed to write about it here because I can imagine you're thinking, What a spoiled brat you are, shut up already and get a job, you're lucky you have help, I'm waiting salty Top Raamen every night for dinner and I have high blood pressure.

The thing is I did work, for years and years and years, and I was successful at every miserable, boring, mundane, non-creative job I ever had, but it ate at my soul. I'm a typical, sensitive, creative, artist being and I have to love my job in order to want to be there. Otherwise I get sick and miss work, and show up late, and wind up acting out in other self destructive ways. Segue to; I was reading an article in Talk magazine about the workers at Windows of the World (is it, or was it, sob, sob, windows of, or windows on?) and it was all of the wonderful people who always showed up early and on time, who lost their lives. Isn't that just the most fucked up thing in the world? On the other hand I always try to think that people who die young or tragically are blessed and good and that's why they get to leave the planet and move on to better things.

Okay so, moving on, after I had my son, I quit my job and stayed home with, and focused on him for the first few years of his life, then I began getting back to the thing I love most of all, which is acting, along the way I dabbled in collage art, writing poetry and organizing readings, starting a business selling antiques and collectibles in four different antique malls, and dealing with my super dysfunctional marriage, and a rip roaring affair that tore at my soul, but miraculously worked out well in the end. Then just as my acting career started to gain momentum Mom offered to build us a beautiful new home, and I became more and more enmeshed again, with her and her money. Then she got sick and needed surgery and I gave up auditioning so I could focus on caring for her. Then my agent went under and my marriage collapsed and I've been in survivor mode ever since.

All of this just to explain why I felt like reaching through the telephone and strangling the guy at the Diver's Supply catalogue when I was trying to order a paid of goggles for Beau for Christmas. After I gave him the order and read my credit card to him, he said, "Whoops, sorry Mam, that card's been reported as stolen." Then just as this panicky adrenaline feeling spread up into my chest, he said, "Naw just kidding." Jerk. What's funny about saying something like that to someone? I really wanted to hurt him but instead I just told him that it was an inconsiderate and unfunny thing to do. People can be so stupid and insensitive sometimes.