Wednesday, December 18, 2019
I visited the ATM this afternoon to withdraw cash for this next week’s rent. Certain necessities arose at once, and at once drastic changes occurred in my motivations, hopes and dreams.
I had $178.42 left. Considering that I’d already bought smokes to last till Sunday and now had the next week’s rent on hand, this is exactly enough to last the next two weeks.
I expect my Social Security payment on the last Wednesday of each month. I have had some confusion and anxiety as to whether there are four Wednesdays this month, or five. If there were five, I might have to borrow money to make it through the final week. I supposed the fourth and fifth Wednesdays to be the 24th and 31st. In fact, the fourth Wednesday is the 25th, and there is no fifth. My payment will arrive on Christmas Day. I did not realize this until after I left the ATM.
I really enjoy my nights at the hotel. I’d already had two in December, but that didn’t keep me from wishing for a third. Buying my coffee at DD, I’d gaze at the doughnuts behind the counter and get a strong whim to buy a dozen and reserve a room for that night.
With that amount on my card, a third night this month is absolutely impossible.
And in the face of this necessity, all such whims got erased for the rest of this month.
All my desires snapped into a new direction: my first night at the hotel next month.
And whereas until now my efforts to redirect my whims have not had much success — the desires are vague, the fantasies are vague, the images are vague — in the face of this new, certain reality, they all became vivid and clear.
I have remarked before that the closer any prospect comes to being real, the easier it becomes to want, to hope, to pray for.
Related: Hope and vision
Coffee for Ron
Ron is a panhandler who sits out front of DD for several hours every day. He is a dual diagnosis person, being addicted (I don’t know to what.) and having two psychiatric diagnoses. He comes in to warm up and schmooze, ask me for a smoke and ask me to buy him coffee. He doesn’t ask for coffee every day.
A small coffee at DD costs $1.79. I didn’t know that until the last time I bought one, and it was quite a jolt.
In my current situation, I cannot buy him coffee any more this month.
I wouldn’t be exactly in this situation, but for the fact that, on Saturday morning December 7, while I was meditating, he sneaked into my wallet and took $20.
A taker will not realize that stealing from you now may make you unable to “help” him or her later. Takers never count the cost.
Not that I’m unwilling: I’m unable.
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
This morning, he ran off with my lighter.