I keep having these dreams of an alternate life where I never really moved out to live by myself. In the dreams, there’s always somebody, usually mother, that I keep around to prop me up.
In these days when it’s literally impossible, my subconscious mind is accusing me of living in my mother’s basement. Now that’s just sick!!
What really makes me want to toss my cookies is that there are elements to the dream that are true. I’m working the kind of job that college brats work to earn beer money. I’m not working a valuable trade. I’m not supervisor to a bunch of these college brats. I’m not shouldering any real responsibility. I’m at the time in my life where I should be at a big desk throwing down my administrative lightning bolts from a corporate Mount Olympus.
Why am I living such an immature life? Where did I go so horribly wrong?
My visit to the credit counselor yesterday didn’t really reveal anything I didn’t already know. I need more income. My attempts to save money, radical though some of them are, are not going to be enough to right my ship. My action plan: look for additional part-time work. So far, I’ve put in for a sales associate position at Toys ‘R’ Us, and a catering driver position for Boston Market.
Keep the prayers going up for me.