A Waits kind of morning

Up before the Sun, I take my herbs, have my tea, wash my face until there is time to take a shower. Apply for another fucking internet loan so I can eat, put a few bucks in the car’s tank.
They like me at the loan place, even called yesterday to offer me a discount on interest. Hell, at least payment is taken care of instantly – like chopping off your head instead of slowly bleeding out.

I feel that this apartment is going to be my demise. Sure, I like it, but I was fine without having to pay the rent half of my check, electricity, and constantly worry about parking… but there were also benefits that I needed, and as they wouldn’t release me without a viable place to live, I had to play their game, by their rules.
Look at me, a good american citizen. Next thing you know I’ll have credit cards and be in debt up to my neck, like the “average” person. “Cut Here”, the line will say.

5:48am. Time to go move my car. They sweep the streets even when it’s raining. I must remember to bring my mp3 player thing this time. That’s where Mahler is, and Tom. I think it’s a Waits kind of morning…

Advertisements

…and still, the tests come…

Please. $449 left to go. Need a car while my legs heal…

I thought things had changed, that I had learned my lesson…
Actually, they did, and I did, but I was given misinformation regarding the handicapped placard that I received yesterday. I was told by my social worker at Laguna Honda that I could park in a yellow meter zone without worrying about the time limit with one, so, well, I *did*, because I had no problems yesterday doing it after I received the placard with my appointment at SF general. With my left leg swollen to burst from two days of appointment after appointment after appointment & not having enough money to get the herbs I need, I needed to park as close to my new home as possible, which I did – at a seemingly innocent yellow meter.
Apparently all yellow meters are not the same.

I just found out when I went to the corner store and looked across the street… that my car was gone. Towed. Not because of tickets. Not because of registration; Because of my own negligence in believing what my social worker said about the handicap parking placard.

I’m not going to pretend that it’s not my fault – the DMV handed me a pamphlet yesterday when I got the placard, but I was far too exhausted when I got home to read it. And I thought that I knew the rules. Apparently, I didn’t.

So right now I’m in a strange position. If I give the car up, I’m not losing everything, but I am losing the mobility that I so loved, & putting my legs & health in danger again due to standing & waiting for the bus, and losing both of my archery bows, all of my arrows and gear – which I won’t have any money to replace anytime soon, or later, considering I have less than $300 a month to my name after I pay for this damn apartment.

You’ve all been so amazingly loving and generous through this whole ordeal, and I know that I wouldn’t be alive without you – so I loathe asking for your help again in getting my car out of jail, but… right now the towing and storage is $493, tomorrow it goes up another $63, and so on.
I wouldn’t give a damn if it weren’t my freedom & my bows, but it is.

I had wanted this post to tell you how good I am doing – broke, but good, and getting used to having a beautiful home that doesn’t have wheels – but things worked out differently. Another test. (C’mon now, Universe – haven’t I shown my strength *yet*???!!)

I’m going to leave it at that. If you can, please help. I am still selling my camera if you want it (posted earlier on my Facebook page – and my PayPal account is still kSea@culturefluxmagazine.com.

Gods, I feel like such a f’ing idiot.