Fall in Texas is beautiful, but between attending school, attempting not to get fired from my part-time job at the costume shop, and selling plasma for rent, I wasn’t able to enjoy it.
The worst thing about poverty is how isolating it can be. One of the hardest, fastest rules of social etiquette is that it isn’t acceptable to let other people know you are broke, not only because it is shameful, but because it makes everyone highly uncomfortable.
Anyway, so I had tried to avoid social settings altogether for the whole first part of that semester, but November 2nd was my best friend’s birthday dinner and party, an event I could not easily ignore.
Knowing I’d have to foot the bill at least for my own share of her birthday meal, I swallowed my pride, disgust, and fear (actually, I drowned them in Tequila) and drove back to the plasma place.
It was horrible, as usual; demeaning, belittling, and humiliating; but at least this time I was wasted.
At home afterwards, I got ready for the party. To be honest, it had been so long at that point since I’d gotten laid that I was really hoping to score that night. I dressed with this in mind, discarding my usual homeless look in favor of a crisp white linen tube top, my best Seven’s, and girly ballerina shoes. My hair I pulled into a sleek ponytail, and for makeup I did the smoky-eye thing, which I must say worked pretty well on me.
I looked good, overall. There was just one problem: the giant bandage on my arm didn’t really go with my outfit.
So, without so much as a second thought, I ripped it off.
Immediately, my vein began squirting blood. In a continuous high-pressured fountain, it sprayed the the mirror and the walls with sick red curls, soaked into my clothes, collected in a dark puddle at my feet. I was stunned. For half a minute, I didn’t know what to do; I just stood there, bleeding. Then, finally, I grabbed a bra off my floor and tied it around my upper arm, to cut off circulation. That did it.
To regroup while I stopped bleeding, I waited a while to re-dress. I put on some music, checked my email…
…only to find a notice from my university threatening to send a collection agency after me if I didn’t repay my $4000 loan, which was three months overdue, by the end of the week.
That pretty much killed my mood, but I went to the party anyway, back in my bum clothes, slightly blood-stained, a bra still tied to my arm; drank a bottle of wine by myself at dinner and half a bottle of vodka afterward; and took some crackhead home with me to cuddle.
