S.O.L.

You know what that abbreviation means, don’t you? I define it.

I’ve begun hunting for yet another place to live. It’s dangerous here, to both my physical and emotional health. I can’t afford it: especially not since I lost any source of steady income. So I’m back to being in the hunt again. But this time I feel like the fox running from a pack of hounds. They’re not barking up the wrong tree, they’re barking at me and it’s not at all pleasant for them to have my scene.

I know I can’t afford to live around here anymore. and I don’t want to go back to New Jersey, which is even worse. No one can afford to help me. My Unemployment’s going to run out eventually and all I get from Social Security after the garnishment from The She Wolf is about $650 a month.

I don’t even like Pennsylvania. I want to go back to Upstate New York, where the prices are a bit better. IF I can find a place for me and for my cat, from whom I will not allow myself to be parted. That is too much to ask of anyone.

So what then do I do? Reconcile myself to a host of physical ailments and just take them? Probably. I have weapons with which to fight back. I can’t fight Social Security OR Ciy Hall.

I have paid a million times over for my sins but they never seem to be remitted, and there is no end to the payback. “When will it suffice?” Yeats asked, and like him, I don’t have an answer.

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