Rough Patch

It’s going to sound like a First World Problem, but I am having a bit of a rough patch right now.

Rent is due, and we’re short by about $90.

My husband has been steadily looking for work, and it’s become something of a nightmare; He’s in the Venn Diagram of “overqualified” and “No experience,” plus he has a gap in work history where I was working and he wasn’t. He was the house husband. And has been my mental rock while I’ve struggled with Fibromyalgia.

It’s my birthday this Thursday, and if I can’t get rent before today, they’re gonna evict me on my birthday.

The complex does not know I’m out of work and trying to get disability. My anxiety won’t let me tell them “Hey, I’m in a bind at the moment.”

I’m gonna try to pull a rabbit out of my hat; maybe I can get the money I need.

I have money coming, but PayPal says my money will be available on Thursday.
I’m selling books. History books that I no longer use or feel connected to, just to make rent. I’m cashing in a savings bond early. I’m hoping I can make it work. Selling my books always feels like selling a piece of my soul. I put a lot of love, care, and affection into my books.

I went to college for ten years. I have a Master’s Degree. My husband, the same.

Why can’t we find work?
I hear peopel tell me all the time “There are tons of jobs that just require a degree! Any degree!”

I’m worse off now than I was last birthday, when all my money went to fixing the brakes on our car. Had I known that the car wasn’t gonna last another 6 months, I wouldn’t have bothered.
All I wanna do is curl up and cry.

But I can’t; I’m a Soldier and I must “carry on!” Though I will eventually cry about all this.

Perhaps even once I get the rent paid.

I’m going to wait as long as possible in hopes that the mailman brings me money; birthday money, hopefully?

On the other side, Thursday morning (my birthday) I have an appointment with a Doctor about my anxiety for my disability test. If I’m still feeling then like I do now, I should be able to prove my anxiety.

I HATE having to prove I’m sick almost as much as I hate being broke.