This next week is going to be brutal. It’s that dreaded time of month for me: The week before payday. The poverty challenge. A week where I’m stuck on a diet of soup, bread, water and crumbs of desperation. The week where my hair resembles a drunk boofont and my eyebrows look like something from Teen Wolf. Sporadic, out-of-control hair wiring out in all directions. Popping up out the blue like unwanted relatives. It knocks the whole dynamic of my face off balance. And for the next week this is literally all I will see any time I pass a reflective surface, those bastard wolf brows resting below the fucking hedge on my head.
Then it comes. The gloomiest of weeks eventually passes and you awake. I tremble with excitement. I stare at my bank balance with button bright eyes gawking in wonderment. Behold, the ultimate treasures I have. I shall spend these riches on whatever I please. I am king! Well, for a day anyway. Then you’re immediately demoted to pauper status as soon as you’ve paid all your out goings. It’s like watching a month of hard work haemorrhage in front of you. It’s tragic, oh so, so tragic. But at least those hairy slugs plastered across my face shall be exterminated.
The build up to payday this month can’t come fast enough. I have thee entire weekend off. Until then I’m trying to find positives during a week where, let’s be honest, you contemplate pushing drugs and sucking dick for money. I’ll glare into the mirror each day this week with rheumy eyes, hating myself. The cleaner at work just suggest that when I’m drunk to stash some cash at random places, like a shady dealer, so throughout the month I’ll randomly find it and squeal with glee. I’ll try this.
Alright I am being dramatic, I have food and the fact my face looks like a junkie gremlin isn’t the end of the world, it’s only a week. And yes, I am aware people have it a lot worse and yes, I am also aware that this constant state of insecurity I live in probably portrays itself as narcissism. But y’know, wolf brows. The struggle is real.