halloween day and not even enough money to buy a few bags of candy.
can’t afford new glasses.
can’t afford new contacts.
can’t afford new meds.
can’t afford new shoes.
can’t afford physio on my achy feet.
can’t afford to live.
i am fifty-six years old and have six dollars in my bank account. this is NOT without working. NO…this is working fifty hours a week. leave the house when it is dark and arrive back at my house when it is dark.
no gym.
no fun.
no drinks.
no conversation.
i eat the same meal for three nights in a row because i can’t afford groceries. i do not own a home. rent is cheap but we live in, what i would consider, a very dull town with very little work and very little culture. gimmicky christmas decoration contests and small town santa claus parades and lights in the park but, aside from that extreme excitement, NOTHING.
the acting business, which is already shitty and almost impossible to earn enough money to live, has been on strike for almost a year. my sales job at red wing shoes has been gone for two years. covid put a major dent into that business and i was let go. family owned business that cares about people and it’s employees. NOT. all these businesses care about is their bottom line. making money. RUTHLESS LYING PIGS.
so i’m doing an inventory on my life.
what has lead me down this path of having six dollars in my bank account at the ripe old age of fifty-six? i could get into my childhood and my trauma. i could get into my dad dying suddenly. my nana dying shortly after that. my mom almost dying from an accidental overdose of tranquillizers. i could also get into being molested at the age of seventeen after hitchiking home from what was supposed to be a fun night of lining up to get bruce springsteen concert tickets.
i could get into my drunken debaucheries shortly after that where i drank lots and fucked lots to prove that i was a man. to prove that i wasn’t gay. this caused me lots of grief. i could get into that but that would take up way too much time and nobody has the time to listen or read anymore.
i could get into my anger and false arrests at eighteen for verbally assaulting a mcdonalds manager after a night of boozing and fun. i ended up being charged with assault even though i never laid a finger on the bald geeky maggot of a manager.
i could get into my two dui’s and subsequent jail time at the don jail, toronto east, and mimico.
i could get into my stint at north bay rehab center where i was surrounded by heroin addicts and crack addicts and i was a skinny lost beer drinker who drank too much on the weekends trying to escape my mind and body.
i could get into my many psychiatrist sessions and psychotherapy sessions and yoga sessions and my taking of various medications over the years from zoloft to adderall to concerta to zoplicone to stratterra to paxil to blah blah blah.
i could get into that but why?
i could get into my many jobs and many firings and many schools and many dropouts. i did win many awards for being the top soccer goalkeeper in the province and in canada while attending college.
i could get into that.
i could get into my acceptance into a top theatre school in london, england but had no money to pay for it so i came back home and went to george brown college. i quit four months later.
lots of jobs.
lots of schools.
lots of fucks.
lots of fights.
lots of arrests.
lots of pills.
lots of hope?
NEVER ANY MONEY.
NEVER ANY DIRECTION.
i got married.
we had a beautiful daughter. still do.
money was up at one time and then down. way down.
never stable emotionally or financially.
i could get into much more on a much deeper level BUT I WON’T. NOT NOW.
i hate my life at the moment.
you cannot function without having enough money to eat.
i get constant notices from the bank stating that i am in overdraft which is only a measly five hundred dollars.
i work fifty hours a week to not even scrape by. the feeling of getting up everyday to put twelve hours into a job that doesn’t pay me enough to survive is not a pleasant one.
BELL LET’S TALK IS A FUCKING FAKE LOAD OF BULLSHIT.
i live in a small town in a faraway place.
no culture.
long commutes.
day after dreary day i work and then i sleep.
i do not watch tv because it bores me.
i am lost.
i am frustrated.
i am angry.
I AM STUCK.
life continues to pass by.
are the arts dead?
am i the only one who doesn’t really care when celebrities die?
empty pill bottles.
empty fridge.
empty house.
empty heart.
empty soul.
lots of noise and little substance.
I NEED A GUIDANCE COUNSELLOR.
I HATE LIFE RIGHT NOW.
“put on a smiley face.”
signed
THE JOKER.
notanotherphony. 