Never feed stray cats

I don't know what it is with the cats around here. They're just as finicky as indoor cats, meaning they'll gladly starve rather than eat food thats not to their satisfaction. I have it on authority from the local cat lady that these are the most fat-assed, spoiled stray cats within a five-block radius.

More to the point, we're strapped for money. My mother took a hit when the vet charged us $45 for the prednisalone. For the past two weeks, it's been reduced to $15. Supposedly, that was "a mistake". When I was first charged the lower amount, I pointed out this discrepancy to the lady at the front desk. As per usual, she ignored me. Only lately has the front desk started to show some semblance of competence. Accordingly, I can assume the $45 price tag is there to stay.

Well, apparently that was all it took to scuttle mom's bank account. She's been living from dollar to dollar and acting as if it's standard procedure. Last week, my aunt sent us $300. A third of that is earmarked for our bus trip to Tom's River this Christmas, where we held a family reunion last year. This time, I proposed that I just stay home and we pocket the extra $40.

Lying won't do. It's too transparent. Mom is considering telling the truth about my absence.

No way to disguise my lack of a job, though.

It's times like these when my mother catches on to my general ineptitude. It's no cause for excitement; in another week, she'll be her usual, deluded self. But in the meantime, I'm treated to the old, "I thought you'd be working by now" speech.

I postponed my first student loan payment until the 27th of next month. I still need to rustle up $50 in the interim.

Tomorrow, the plan is to visit another temp agency (calling first, so I don't end up at a vacant lot this time). Then apply for work at a health food store, which is waste of time.

It's looking as though January will be down to the wire. Even if I'm optimistic, I won't see any job placements until the middle of the month. Mom has suggested hocking her onyx ring, while I mulled over the usual proposal of selling my House dvds.

What luck that this situation happens to hit us in mid-winter. Soon we'll be behind on the rent, then the storage fees, and of course the omnipresent credit debit.

I sometimes wonder where my stubborn reluctance to enter the wage culture came from. It's not as though capitalism is something new under the sun. People have been learning trades and working to support themselves since the dawn of man.

I suppose the simple answer is I'm a spoiled, inexperienced twat who can't hold a job. I don't say can't find a job, because I have. And then promptly fired. Hence the empty resume.

It occurs to me that I've never had to work. It seems absurd that the only son of a poor single mother could grow up spoiled, I know. But there was never any real danger of being thrown out onto the street, at least not as far back as I can perceive. Now, I'm in New York. This is not my territory. Everyone here knows their shit. In an economic downturn, it's simultaneously the worst and best place to be.

If I'm homeless, I'll hurl myself off a building. I am simply not suited for that kind of bare-knuckled survival. Of course, mom would be homeless, too -- which would be regrettable.

Ooh, look who's jumping to wild conclusions? That's what happens when you're not master of your destiny. Anything seems plausible. And I haven't lifted a finger to better myself in 20 years, so there's no indication of me starting now.

What annoys me is when mom suggests I develop an entrepreneurial spirit. Today she proposed I become a dog walker. And she wonders why I never take her insights seriously.

I wondered aloud how somebody becomes a first-time dog walker. No one would entrust their dog to somebody without experience. Mom answered that perhaps you baby-sit your neighbor's dog for awhile, and eventually you list them as a reference. Sounds plausible.

My style is more sitting back and letting things come to me. I'll make minimal efforts to get the gears moving, but don't expect me to do much in the way of thinking or actual legwork. It's the opposite of my nature.

What is my nature, then? Well, not much. Over the past decade, I've allowed myself to atrophy into a hedonistic, lifeless husk with no personality or aspirations. Where to go from here?

This is another problem with living in the city. It doesn't offer a lot of methods to decompress. Especially in winter. And at night. This apartment is pretty stark at night.

Nighttime brings counsel, though, as they say.

(And by "as they say", I read it in a book.)

That counsel is plain, simple terror.