Musings on Renewed Poverty

So I, after attaining the lofty rank (and pay) of teacher last year, find myself living in my parents' house and slinging pizza this winter.

Worse things have happened. But it's funny- this shit seems to hit I and mine in waves. Not that everyone's rise and fall have been as radical, but still... this time last year I was pulling down bank, and my scuzzy cohorts down south were well on their way toward making an offer on buying some property.

Now? They are renting an apartment. Again. And getting reamed by their former landlords.

In point of fact, neither is terribly surprising- I'm a shiftless layabout whose only passions do not pay well, and my cohorts have a child to care for and, as basically broke-ass motherfuckers, an endless series of unexpected expenses that they cannot simply float.

It is frustrating, to say the least.

But on the other hand, we've always got each others' backs. When you have eaten sandwiches from the dumpster behind Arby's with a motherfucker (after standing lookout while those sandwiches were retrieved), when you have had the use of damn near anything a homie owns, not because he can afford to loan it, but because he knows you can't afford to buy it, when you have never wanted for a couch to crash on and a meal when you wake up... You may not be rich, but damned if you aren't lucky.

Of course, that doesn't mean I'd turn down a high-paying job... you know, if any of you bastards happen to have one you feel like giving me...