And the Hits Just...

...keep on coming.

I have a really hard time expressing anger in an effective way -- one that causes as little damage to both myself and the object of my anger as is possible.

Yesterday I got some really disturbing financial news. Money that should have been coming to me since the beginning of September -- which I've already been assured once was coming -- still had not fallen into my lap, and because of that, my rent is now officially late. And I'm really fucking steamed about it.

Ultimately, though, there's not a lot I can do about it. I'm at the mercy of someone who's as bad off at me, and apparently worse at dealing with money issues than I am. Now I have to go, hat in hand, to my landlord and beg his forgiveness for my rent being late; and, of course, pay a late fee that I really can't afford all that well.

Another couple of weeks of eating Raman noodles and skating by on pennies a day so I can make it through to the next paycheck.

And the worst part of all this is that this is exactly the quality of life I said would drive me from New York City. I've said on more than one occassion, "There's no point in living in New York if you can't afford to enjoy it."

But the thing is I should be able to afford it. If I could count on things working out the way they're supposed to -- for instance, if people who owed me money would pay me the money owed when it's owed -- I wouldn't be in this predicament.

It depresses me that I'm in this position less than a month after returning to the city. Because ultimately the city isn't the source of my problem. It's my need to be kind and helpful and magnanimous that has me trusting -- and counting on -- people I shouldn't.

I suppose I would find those whereever I went, no?

Knowing that's true doesn't make the monetary predicament any easier.

My friend Topher recently advised that, in those moments when I'm feeling overwhelmed by everything and I sit bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night, I don't try to distract myself from the whirl of crazy fears about all the bad things that can happen, but just take the time to feel what I'm feeling in the hope that it'll pass and I can return to a bit of calm.

An excellent idea, except for the fact that it's me we're talking about here. I'm bad enough when I dwell on things and then try to distract myself from them. When I give my mind free reign to just go with it, who knows what fresh new versions of Hell I'll invent to play out in my mind?

My mom has a framed embroidery on the wall of her dining room: "Worry does not relieve tomorrow of its cares, it robs today of its strength."

So true, and so hard to follow.