It Can’t Happen Here Until It Can

Right now I’m fighting an attempt to evict me. I’m behind in the rent because my income–culled from Social Insecurity, Unemployment, and eventual payments from a community college in Jersey that will not renew me–is leaving me in Pauper’s Paradise with just about enough money to buy food for myself and my cat. Not to forget the $20 a day to put gas into my rickety old car that I pray from day to day holds up to get me from home to campus and back.

Have I said I hate my work? I have to go to an orthopedic surgeon tomorrow because the wear and tear on my body has helped exacerbate the bulging disks in my spine. I cannot walk any distance and I cannot stand or sit without extreme discomfort. I’ll see what the doctor says tomorrow. I’ve been told to avoid surgery but right now I could use a nice rest in a good bed for awhile, and to hell with the lost income and possibly limited mobility while I’m healing, assuming I heal. I don’t know if I’d qualify for Disability because I took SS payments in 2007 before I hit 65, so your guess is probably better than mine. But Medicare–until someone kills it–is a lifesaver right now. Someone other than I is paying for the MRI, x-rays, and whatever else they need to do to me. I’ll accept it gladly.

(Footnote: I can’t apply for Disability because I waited until I was over 66. Hell, nothing hurt before that. Screw Congress until they tell me I’m screwed.)

I wrote earlier that there are some mistakes we never stop paying for and I guess this is the time to reap some more rewards. I’m sick of reaping rewards. I’d like to be able to earn a living again. But in this economy, at age 67 and counting, how much of a shot do I have at even contract work of the kind I used to do? In my best earnings year, 2001, I grossed $144,000 before deductions that included alimony. Now I’ll be lucky if I can gross $12,000. It seems I took a long walk off a very short pier.


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