The Miss Jobless Chronicles is written by Caitlin O’Toole.
It’s been kind of a sad time. I lost my 16-year-old cat, Lucy, very suddenly to what I think was kidney failure. I don’t think she suffered, but I am still plagued by guilt that I could have done something to keep her alive or minimize her suffering (though I believe it was rather minimal).
I buried her ashes under a tree outside my building and planted some Pansy seeds so her sister Ethel could look out the window and see Lucy blossom into flowers in the spring.
I was walking past the tree the next day in the Indian Summer rain, kind of at peace at my decision to place my cat there, and this fucker flicked a cigarette butt that landed on Lucy’s fresh grave.
I held my tongue, but picked up the butt and threw it into the street. Lucy always hated smoke.
Then, a woman let her two Chihuahuas underneath the railing and into the flower bed to pee.
“Would you mind not letting your dogs in there?” I said.
She said nothing, but coaxed her dogs back onto the sidewalk.
The following day, she was back with her fucking dogs — again, they were peeing in the flower bed.
“If you don’t stop letting them relieve themselves in there I’m reporting you,” I go.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re from California and they’re just not used to cement.”
Only in New York.
As I told you, I’ve been working some, which is such a relief. A total self esteem booster. However, because I am now in a different income bracket, I won’t be eligible for my Healthy New York insurance policy come the end of the year. Ah, the joys of freelance!
Healthy New York kind of sucks, by the way. It’s relatively cheap (about $350 a month) but that only covers very specific medical care and doesn’t cover certain prescriptions (like Xanax, which is so key!) Most important thing, of course, is that if anything — god forbid — happens to me, like I get hit in the head by a falling satellite, I have catastrophic coverage. It’s not really the everyday things that insurance is most important for, like sore throats. It’s really for the things you don’t see coming. (Like falling satellites.)
The company I work for isn’t taking taxes out of my check, which means I will be royally screwed in April. I’m saving up to buy a laptop before the end of the year so I can write it off. I make donations (however small) to good causes for the tax-deductible receipts. If I go out for a drink for a work-related chat, I save the “evidence.” I’m getting pretty anal retentive about bookkeeping.
I fantasize about going back to school sometimes. I recently met two people in grad school. One of them is a “performance artist” and a pretty good painter. I thought she might be going to the School of Visual Arts or Parsons. Turns out she’s going to some school I’ve never heard of.
“What are you majoring in?” I asked her, genuinely curious.
I left it at that, wondering if there are are different levels of lactation classes. Like, in 101 you learn to maximize your milk production and in the next level you learn to pump. Wonder what happens in the advanced level.