I read Rachel’s post on The Way We (twentysomethings) Live Now at Autostraddle and it made me want to curl up/cry in the fetal position. On the other hand, I just finished writing 1,777 words for NaNoWriMo in only ninety minutes. So: call it even?
In other news, at one of my low-income jobs tonight, my supervisor had to call the cops because a drunk (and homeless?) guy stole our stuff and passed out in the men’s room for an hour. When the cops maneuvered him around my register, he got belligerent and tried to escape, at which point they cuffed him for protective custody and he screamed, “I’m sober as a motherfucker! You can’t fucking do this to me, fuckers!” He’s come in the store before and I’ve suspected he might be homeless, but couldn’t ask him. I felt guilty and looked away as they walked him out, as if I had never rung him up and pretended to understand what he would joke about so genially with me.
So it’s not fair of me to complain about my life, I think, when I’m homed and have never spent the night in jail.