My room

My room
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf

Sunday, October 12, 2014

La Cabaretera

On that first night when I arrived, the club was in full swing.

I wore green skin tight pants and a black long sleeve shirt with cut-outs, and more makeup than I ever wore. I figured the more I dolled up, the less likely I would be recognized on the street. So I wore more mascara, more eyeliner and enough eye shadow to stain my fingers whenever I ran my hands across my face.

The attention was immediate. As I walked towards the bar I was catcalled by the men standing outside. I ignored them only to hear them make sounds of appreciation and approval as I stepped inside where the music waited for me.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Locked Out, Bottomed Out

Money was getting tight again. I was getting near daily phone calls and messages from Madeline for the other half of the rent for August, about $200. She left her debit card with the same friend who was taking care of Shorty the Chihuahua, and the lady had apparently taken all the money Madeline had. She was desperate for money and putting on the pressure. 

Looking back, I also made some mistakes when looking for work. I passed on jobs that would've gotten in the way of writing. I completely passed on going back to retail. I looked for "dream" jobs in marketing and writing. I looked for freelance gigs that would've let me stay home, but every opportunity that came my way, I talked it over with the guys. They all told me the same thing: don't get stuck again. Follow your dream. We'll help you in the meantime. 

But I wasn't taking well to being broke. 

Sunday, September 28, 2014

On the Bridge

The first time I saw her on the bridge I was on my way to the twins. I was still driving those days and having a car was becoming a burden. I had my share of parking tickets by then. Making car and insurance payments when I barely had money to eat was starting to sting. One of my headlights burned out and I was threatened twice within a three-day span with a ticket by the police if I didn't have it fixed.

In a panic I went to AutoZone and the guy behind the counter fixed the light for me. It didn't cost much, but my nerves were fried. My car, which I loved dearly, was becoming less of a necessity and more of a luxury. I wasn't driving to White Plains daily anymore. Sometimes I only drove to move it to the opposite side of the street, and because I got to see my car less, I worried about it more.