For the first time in a long bit, I will not be writing about Stevie.
Since the job search has been going so abysmally, I decided to follow through on an ad I saw in the news for plasma donors (or plasma sellers, actually). I don't mind needles and I'd heard that you could get something like $30 bucks per session, and when you are so utterly and completely broke like I am, $30 dollars is really nice...and you don't need a resume. You just have to have not had sex with an African male since 1976.
In a perfect world, I should really donate my plasma, but when you can get paid for it...I had to at least check it out. And check it out I did. I went to a place called Talecris Plasma in downtown G-ville, but was told that they weren't accepting new donors and to come back at 8am tomorrow. I was a little weirded out by the whole scene. There were definitely some dodgy characters and no one was friendly. Some of the people looked like they were homeless (or close to it) or patients in an Alzheimer's ward. Lots of lanky men with grotesque, greasy facial hair, and old women with crazy eyes and missing teeth. I was looking around for the poor student types and saw none. But I said, Maura, damn it, you lived by the projects in Harlem and you can handle this. You can get a little money to work towards paying your next insurance bill. So what if it is unethical. Deal with it.
So I rolled out of bed (literally, I'm sleeping on the dog bed these days) at 6:30 am and drove back to G-ville. There was practically a line out the door of more shady folk. I got handed a pamphlet that specified where the plasma went, and mostly it goes to pharmaceutical companies to make drugs (overpriced and useless, most likely) and not people who actually need it. And the people running it treated everybody like shit, and this guy beside me kept harassing me and informing me that I was too pretty to be there. And it just hit me...the clear message from God or whatever that I shouldn't be there (and not because I am pretty). So I left. And then I felt stupid for going all the way to G-ville just to leave. So I drove over to the Blood Connection and donated my platelets instead. It was just a whole different experience. Everyone was so nice and the building was clean and friendly looking. And I was glad I did it. Sometimes you just have to listen to your gut, I guess.
And then I came home, feeling tired and a little woozy, only to find out that I didn't get the GS job. I am upset because of the lost opportunity to return to that place and those people (and maybe it is for the best that I don't take that step backwards), but mostly I am just overcome with frustration, anger, and self-pity. If I can't get a job at GS where people know and like me and I am more than qualified, where can I get a job. I am just completely demoralized and beyond exasperated with the whole process. I just spent my last dime in the world on Stevie's book and couldn't even afford to bind it properly. And I just don't understand how I got here. I mean, even three months ago, I had no financial problems. I was slowly starting to replenish my savings that I had lost due to not having work for a while. And then overnight...it happens. I have a major medical emergency while under-insured and get dumped out on the street by a new set of jerks a few weeks later. I don't understand. And maybe I don't care. But I feel like I am twelve years old. I almost forget what it was like to take care of myself. I know I'm so lucky to be here. I really I am. But it is still hard.
I don't know what to do. I almost never have to say that. It is a strange sensation. But I don't know what the right move is for me. And I don't think it is something that anyone else can tell me. And I get caught up on what I should have done to begin with. It seems like every decision I have made in the last 18 months has haunted me. Hindsight is always 20/20. After Stevie, I should have immediately started looking for another nanny job instead of flittering away my savings while desperately trying for a "normal job." I should have taken the agency-sponsored job with those filthy rich people with a child-care staff at $20 an hour instead of falling for a few kind words and an adorable baby. And I should have stuck it out in NYC and found another nanny job as soon as possible instead of coming back here. Or maybe those were all the right decisions, but I just can't see it yet. Because I thought the GS job was the light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.
I hope that is the case. I don't know what to trust in anymore. I don't even feel like I can trust myself, but I know I have to. I feel like I need to pray, or soul-search, or maybe they are the same thing. I just feel alone and scared and too weak to go it alone.
