I had a rough weekend. In spending some time with a pile of documents (and three hours with my tax/money hell advisor), I found that I'm in even more dire financial straits than I'd previously thought.
Handy hint, kids - if you are ever out of work involuntarily for 8 months, it's wise to be: 1)part of a 2-income household; 2)independently wealthy; or 3)attractive enough to get yourself a nice sugardaddy. That's all I'm sayin'. Except you should be looking for most of my belongings on eBay really soon.
Driving home, weeping buckets (not a smart move on the Beltway, just FYI), I wished I could reach the box of cassettes behind my seat. I needed some Elvis Costello to comfort me. A slow, sad song in that craggy voice wouldn't uplift me, exactly, but it would make me feel less alone.
WWES? What would Elvis sing? Oh hell. Would it matter? Like Neil Finn, Elvis Costello could sing me the damn Yellow Pages and I would be in A Better Place.
I needed my Elvis. And I needed him bad. I fished and fished and finally found the box. I pulled out a tape, my eyes never leaving the road. There are at least 6 Elvis Costello tapes in this box of 12. Surely, I have found success.
No. I've managed to pull out - god help me - a Thai bootleg of Johnny Hates Jazz. WTF? Why did I buy Johnny Hates Jazz?!? And why did I do it in Thailand, for god's sake? Hey, everybody! I just got back from Thailand, land of magnificent textiles, shadow puppets, and brilliant gems! No, I didn't buy any of that stuff! I got a bootleg of Johnny Hates Jazz! Shattered Dreams! Whoo-hoo!
Elvis is playing at Strathmore Hall, quite literally in my back yard on April 20th. If I had the money, I would go see him. I could use some Elvis therapy right now. I could pretend that he's just singing to me, and that everything is going to be alright. But it is all pretend, after all.
So, here I am this evening, un-Elvised. I soaked my sorrows in a wretchedly high-carb, hideous-for-me Chinese takeout dinner. I ate on the sofa like the bachelorette I am, watched Family Guy, a little about the The Gospel of Judas, and tried not to think about money.
I promised myself I would be in bed by 11 (a failure) and that I would have my clothes laid out for work, all ironed and everything. Ha, bloody ha. I am attending a reception at the embassy of an Islamic nation (think burqa) tomorrow, and I had to dig out something very conservative to wear - round-necked, long-sleeved purple blouse and a long black skirt. It'll match my post-car accident bruises nicely. Hooray for skin/clothing color coordination!
Okay, off to bed. I swear I'll be in a better frame of mind tomorrow. Things will be better.
And after I've sold all my possessions (and my plasma), finances will be better, too.