Gurgle....Gurgle....Gasp

That's me.
Gasping for air.

My nerves are shot.
I feel shaky.
I'm not eating.

And the part where I lay down at night and close my eyes can hardly be called sleep.

I'm trudging through the day-to-day.

Instead of playing Hide-and-seek, Ring-Around-The-Rosie, and Tag, we are
Playing games like how to rob Peter to pay Paul.
And games like, it's only two days past the expiration date......this is still good isn't it?.....What's for dinner? Well, how do you feel about pasta, pasta, or pasta?

When The Man knocks on my door, demanding payments, trying desperately to squeeze blood from a stone and my hands shake as I write the check and I ask The Man, desperately, not to cash the check until Friday. Money spent before it's even had, I think to myself: How much longer can we live like this? Life shouldn't be this way. It's not what life is about. Is this my idea of the "American Dream"?

I've noticed how much I've been saying to Connor lately
"We don't have money for that."
"It's too much money."
"We can do that another time when we have more money."
I need to find a new way to say no.
Because while it's the truth, I don't want everything to be about money.
And yet, it is.

I've become cynical.
American Dream my ass. All it is is a puff of smoke. The carrot on the end of the stick for the pack mule. The thing we desperately hold on to. Visions of something better. Until we are six feet under.

I get pissed off at the governor of our state when I think about the whopping $750 dollar a year raise for all state employees.
And how the fact that the same month that we get that BIG raise, we have to pay a considerable increase in our health benefits.
Doesn't she think anyone will be smart enough to notice how much of a slap in the face that is?

I don't want to be filthy rich.
I don't want a house that costs a sinful amount of money to heat.
Our cars are ten years old each. And that's fine with me.
All I want is not to have to look over my shoulder anymore.

I just want to breathe again.