Friday Love/Hate

I love my new job. It is a strange feeling to always have work to go to. It will be an even stranger feeling once I start clocking my grip, to be spending my paycheck, and another one is already going to be on the way. My children are excited because, one day, we'll be able to go out to a restaurant again, at some point, conceivably. I am excited because even if it is snowing or raining or cold, I can go to work still. Of course, I can't go to work drunk anymore, nor can I give myself masturbation breaks anymore, and taking showers before work instead of after is really eating into my weekly self-exploration time. But hey, every silver cloud has a grey lining.

I hate losing my food stamps. I don't mind not qualifying for them anymore, that's a good thing. But to not be getting nearly $500 of free food every month, man, that's gonna suck. It was nice to be able to go to the grocery store and get everything you wanted. Now we'll have to go back to only doing that when we get our tax refunds. And really, as wasteful as everybody probably is, if you look at how my family wastes money, we mostly waste it at the grocery store. Could be worse. Could have more money too though. Could've been born with a big dick and a solid gold tour bus that floats to Tahiti twice a year too. But all I got is what I got. And I ain't got food stamps no more. Maybe I should just lie for a couple months to make the transition smoother. Actually, it worked out well because I was supposed to call the welfare lady and do a two hour phone interview this week, which would've sucked, so I just blew it off so my bennies will lapse at the end of the month. I'm supposed to write her a letter saying I didn't need them anymore, but I might just see what happens if I don't. Worst case scenario, they keep giving me free food. More likely, nothing happens and she doesn't have a nice tidy little letter to wrap up my file, meaning somewhere, to the government, me and my wife and three innocent children could still be suffering in poverty, but our poverty is so deeply embedded in us that we don't even care anymore, and we just live, the homeschooled children reverting to near feral wild humanoids who never brush their hair and know more about catching crawfish in the creek bottom than ciphering their devil numbers. Or maybe I should just write the welfare lady that, in crayon.