I need to find myself a sugar daddy. You know, a man that can take care of me while I do what I want and need to do. Go to doctor’s appointments. Take my dogs for a walk in the evenings. Buy a new bra because the one I’ve had for months finally died a painful, hole-y death. Spend three hours writing on my novel so that I can get it finished by the end of the year. You know, all the important things that I cannot seem to do because I am struggling to make ends meet and failing miserably.
My electric bill is over $500 because I had to use electric heaters this past winter to keep warm in this crappy apartment that seeps cold air in through every nook and cranny that is available to it. I can barely get 15 hours at the movie theaters, and the school year is over and doesn’t start back up till the end of August, so I can’t substitute right now. I can’t afford a car because the refund check that I get from the college every 12 weeks (I’m in grad school online and they seem to work differently) has to go to rent so I can keep a roof over my head. I keep racking up loans because I can’t pay for my classes and I need the refund checks to survive.
I’m failing at life here. I can’t drive, I don’t have a full time job, my Diabetes is poorly managed, I’m behind on rent and all my other bills. I am not utilizing my Bachelor’s degree that I busted my ass to get for 8 years–yeah, it took me that long to get it. I’m divorced, still single, no kids. My parents have passed away and my brother is MIA, my sister is too busy with the million things she’s got herself occupied with to help or even visit regularly and the rest of my extended family doesn’t seem to remember that I exist.
The only things that keep me going, keeps me from giving in to the depression that I feel every single day, are my dogs. They are like my kids, my best friends. And if I wasn’t here anymore, if I was a goner, then they would end up in a shelter, maybe adopted by horrible people who mistreat them or stick them outside all the time, or worse, dead. So when the thoughts come up that I am a waste of space, that I am literally not important because my life is wasting away, that is what keeps me going. The fact that I have these dogs as a responsibility is the thing that keeps me alive. These fluffy, furry, panting fuzz-balls save my life on a daily basis, so it’s only right that I take care of them to the best of my ability.
I make sure that they have the best food that I can get them to eat every day, before I buy groceries for myself. I make sure that they have the flea meds needed to keep them healthy and not getting chewed up by fleas or ticks. I buy them new leashes and collars when the old ones have started to fade and fray, and colorful bandanas to put on them when we go out in public so that they can look their best. They are allowed on the bed every single night, so that they don’t have to sleep on the hard wood floor–Avriik is getting older and I worry about arthritis, plus it allows me to cuddle with them. They sit with me on the couch every night while I watch an episode of whatever I am currently watching–right now it’s Upstairs, Downstairs–and they get fed popcorn that I have made for myself.
I might not be doing much with my life. I might be failing miserably. However, the one thing I can say I am doing well is being a pet owner. My animals–not just my dogs, but my cats too–are well cared for, trained well, and are loved beyond words. I am thankful for them so much, as they give my life purpose. I love them. And I know that they love me too.