Aisle Of Wit

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I’d Like To Go Off The Board, Jack

OK, this will not be a musing that will have a lot of snark, or even insight.  I made the grievous error of seeing my bank account yesterday, not to mention a few social media posts I would usually avoid, and to say that I’m a more than a little bit freaked out would be a massive understatement.

My birthday’s tomorrow, so when I do log into a social media site I get a prompt for whether or not I’d like to solicit contributions for a charity or a worthy cause.  I’ve given to plenty over the years, even when I’ve not been in the best position to do so.  Like many of you, I was raised to believe that paying it forward was some way to convince the karma gods to smile upon you.  Moreover, I was also raised to believe that asking anyone for help was some sort of shanda, because no one other than the Almighty truly has any ability to impact your life.

I suppose the fact that I survived a near-death experience and, at least physically, I’ve never been better that any point in my existence should be some validation that somewhere, something was heard.  I’m consistently reminded that an awful lot of people have it way worse, especially health-wise.

And then I make the mistake of looking at my bank account, my immediate prospects for anything significant to impact it, and the fact that beyond a scant few of you who REALLY read these musings on a regular basis I feel practically no one honestly knows or care how dire things are right now, and I have little choice but to collapse yet again in tears.

Two of the most supportive and consistent people in my life are actually in even more dire financial straits than I am right now.  My instinct has always been to help others in greater need.  The fact that I am handcuffed in my ability to do so drives me even crazier with frustration.  They don’t bitch much, at least to me, and in one case their relentlessly sunny outlook, where they are actually convinced that priortizing a pleasure trip for a freaking tournament should take priority over finishing a project with a deadline that is now more than SIX MONTHS from being finished, the fact that I am persistently reminded “we’re on target, we’re close to getting everything done” simply doesn’t sit well with me whatsoever.

Were I in a place in my life where I had options, as up until my life changed for good when that near-death experience and the ensuing world calamities altered my course,  this person would have been replaced.  G-d knows I seem to have had that fate applied to me more often than not lately by people who survived that better than I.  But beggars can’t be choosers.

And yes, I do realize the term “beggar” could accurately be applied to me. It sickens me that’s that my reality.  Far more than it may sicken you.   No matter how disgused reading this might make you, please try to acknowledge this IS my REALITY.

And let me reiterate YET AGAIN that a day does not pass where, despite my almost never-ending fits of tears, I CONTINUE TO APPLY FOR POSITIONS AND WORK TOWARD PROGRESS.  I’m supposed to have a high-level Zoom call with a major client Monday morning,  I’ve put out a proposal for a personal appearance and social media engagement project that pays commission only that has sat in the inbox of the CMO of the potential client for more than a week.  Yesterday alone I sent my resume to four more of those damned links, despite my consistent experience of ghosting and rejection, because somehow my current support system seems not to include a single actual human being who actually is in a position to hire me, or directly reach out to someone who could.

And the fact that, beyond all rational explanation, the one person I’ve met in the last three and a half years that somehow has been able to work when they choose, at a more than decent rate, have more than enough money to gallabant the world several times over with any companion they may choose (some who actually pay for their high-end travel) and, bluntly, is the biggest reason I’m still breathing would truly prefer that I had already expired.  And that person’s current companion STILL owes me several thousand dollars because, bluntly, when I did have the money, I made the ridiculous mistake of “loaning” it. to this person.  Live and learn?  Well, duh.

There’s scant little you could say or do to me right now that would be capable of insulting me more than I do myself.   Yes, I’m THAT freaked out and unrelenting.  I learned from the best on how to self-flagellate.

So when I ponder where I might want to encourage you to contribute toward in honor of my birthday, please try and understand that just this once I would prefer you bypass cancer research, autoimmune diseases, Ukraine support and, for G-d’s sake, Barbara Lee and Adam Frisch’s relentless e-mails.  And certainly the ones from the Trump 2024 campaign.

I’ll humbly ask, this time directly, for a contribution to my GoFundMe if you can spare it, or at bare minimum the amplification and forwarding to those in your network who might.  The link, as has far too often been the case before, is below.

I honestly want just three things for my birthday:

a) Enough money to be able to pay my rent until my next actual full-time job or significant consulting deal kicks in

b) Enough to cover my immediate expenses toward getting my car in working order so I can safely deliver food

c) Enough so that my I can spare a little to help my friend and, G-d willing, actually be able to hug this person for this first time in a YEAR.

You might consider that last request a bit ridiculous in light of my more dire circumstances.  But dare I ask–if you do have a significant other, or even a pet, to calm you down when you feel life is unfair to you, can you truly put a price or a secondary priority on human contact?

I’m beyond sick and tired of telling the same damn story of rejection, bad luck and yes, AGEISM and REVERSE DISCRIMINATION.  Let alone the inexplicable heartbreak I have over the one exception to every rule that seems to be my fate somehow thinking the fact I respect them is justifiable reason to pray for my death. And no, that has nothing to do with someone else I once was committed to who would, if they had the lucidity to do so, push this other person’s hand toward their weapon and wail for them to pull the trigger.

For those of you who have reached out and occasionally find a way to aid me, I’m grateful beyond any level of expression I’m capable of today.  You know who you are, as do I.

This plea is aimed at those who would otherwise just post a “Happy B-Day” message or something to that effect.  I won’t reject it, but, seriously, it’s not gonna be enough to placate me this year.

I’m likely to actually be having dinner on my birthday with some surprisingly wonderful people, one in particular who knows the sources of my heartbreak better than most. I’m exceptionally grateful to this person, not just because of the “frinner”, but because it means more than most can fathom to actually have someone willing and capable to sit down in a restaurant, without a baggy blue or a debate, and simply smile,  So I don’t have to be Amy Farrah Fowler yet again.

On the other hand, she’s still being paid by Sony.

Guess you can suspect what I might wish for when I do blow out my candle(s).

Until next time…

Fundraiser by Steven Leblang : Steve Leblang (gofundme.com)