best week ever.

One Friday afternoon last month, I was on the way to pick Dash up from school when I stopped at the ATM and discovered my account was overdrawn $700. This was definitely some shoddy, Brokedown Palace news and I wondered why it is that these things never happen on a Monday morning at 11 when you might be able to do something about them but always at the exact moment that banks put a “Next Teller Please” sign in their window and head off to Happy Hour.

Anyway. After some detective work, it was determined to be an accounting error. That was the good news. The bad news was that no one could tell me when it would be resolved. I knew I would have to circle the wagons and get either very clever or very drunk but, as you know, I’m a hope-y gal and always on the lookout for the magic of small blessings, plus I don’t really drink anymore, so I remained determined to look at the situation from my pro-jubilance stance: just another in a long line of solvable challenges. Instead, it turned out to be a starting pistol.

SUNDAY MAY 8th

It was a beautiful Mother’s Day – the best since I got the gig six years ago. There was $40 in my wallet when I found out I was overdrawn and I had stretched it like taffy. I had just enough left over for Dash’s breakfast, lunch and dinner and just enough gas to get him back to school the next morning when I was sure the situation would be resolved.

Dash was at his most sweet and adorable – making me snacks and showering me with gifts and notes. We’ve had some days recently that were more tense cease-fire than Hallmark card so we’d been in the market for a win and we got it in spades.

Then, Peter called to tell me he had proposed to his girlfriend and that she had accepted. I was happy for them but, even though Peter and I have known for years that we would never want to reconcile, it was still hard to come to the realization that after one year with her he was able to so easily do something he couldn’t do with me after six. I hung up and smiled at Dash but never got my groove back. I couldn’t remember a time I had felt so lonely.

MONDAY MAY 9th

I work part-time as an extra for TV commercials. The work pays well and is super fun but only comes in fits and starts. I had worked quite a bit in the fall but there had been a steep drop-off after the New Year and I’d been living exclusively on unemployment. There was just enough to pay for food, gas, bills and the almost daily ice cream cones and 99 cent store toys I get Dash after school, but absolutely nothing extra. I had decided to start looking for another part-time job because the romance of poverty had faded and I’d grown tired of living like one of the Duggars – all hand-me-downs and home perms – so was smack dab in the middle of resume tweaking when the mailman arrived with my unemployment check. A check that had mysteriously shrunk in size from $900 to $124.

After firing off a panicky WTF e-mail to the unemployment people, I was informed that because I’d been working they'd opened a new claim based on my smallest earnings. The matter was “not open to appeal.” I responded by asking why people who worked and only collected unemployment sometimes were being penalized. “If I’d known that getting a job would end up being my downfall, I would’ve spent my days pregnant and gambling in front of the liquor store just like the Republicans think people on unemployment do.” I didn’t hear back.

I called Lucky in a state of pique. She tried her best to calm me down and even offered to FedEx her Starbucks card because it had $30 on it. “They have food there,” she said.* She reminded me of my blessings and I hung up feeling slightly better until I dropped my phone on the stairs of the porch, watching in slow motion as it hit every step before finally hitting the pavement with a crunch.

*I swear to God, if my girlfriends get any more amazing I don’t know what I’ll do.

TUESDAY MAY 10th

My account was still overdrawn but I did have that check for $124 so I headed to various banks to cash it. I needed a phone and my stomach was grumbling but none of the banks would cash it and I couldn’t bring it to mine since the overdraft would just gobble it up and leave me nowhere so I went to a check cashing place and let me just say this: no bueno, no mas.

The first sign I encountered on the bullet proof glass advertised pre-paid cell phones “for prisons and jails.” I stared at it amazed that such a thing would be popular enough to have it's very own sign. The store was well lit which only made the umbrella of desperation that much more visible. I ran out of there as fast as I could, minus the $20 fee they charged.

I went to the Apple store with my $104 and asked for the cheapest phone they had. Turns out the cheapest phone they had was gonna cost $98.99. I bought it. I mean, what can you do? You gotta have an iPhone in this life, right? Armed with $5.01 that I would have to use for gas, I gave the food court a dirty look on my way out of the mall and tried to focus on something positive. Turns out, I could now include pictures in my texts.

I willed the gas tank to make it back and walked into the house eager to jump into the re-write of my TV pilot. It would be my saving grace and I had already started to write a JK Rowling-esque mythology of how ABC would swoop in, buy the show any day now and save me. “It’ll be a great story and I’ll be very stoic in interviews,” I told my agent. “Single moms on the edge are always good copy.” Somehow, I had managed to divorce myself from the fact that that it wasn't just a story I made up. It was the truth.

Nine people had read the script and loved it and all that was left was my manager’s reaction. I had waited two weeks for his call and today was the day. He called and I sat poised with my pen and notepad, expecting to write down words like “inspired,” “fresh,” “exciting.” Instead I sat, shoulders sagging by the second as he told me how much he disliked it. “Was there any character you liked?” I asked after forty-five minutes. “No,” he said.

I got off the phone and watched my amazing story of triumph in the face of adversity dissipate into the ether. I was now officially broke and without talent. I got into bed and stayed there for 24 hours, staring at the ceiling and sighing like Billy Crystal in When Harry met Sally. Sigh… Sigh… Sigh. Also, I cried.

WEDNESDAY MAY 11th

I found $20 in the pocket of the last pair of jeans I tore through and went to the market. Dash was coming home that day and I was relieved I didn't have to borrow money to cover him. After spending a fair amount of time collecting coins from around the house and eyeing his piggy bank like a crack head, holding actual dollar bills in my hand felt like a victory. Then, groceries rolling around in the back seat, the oil light went on. I pulled into a Jiffy Lube to discover that my car requires a “synthetic” oil and that fixing the problem will cost me $80. I told the guy I would take my chances. I rested my head against the steering wheel and wondered what kidneys were going for on the black market. Seriously.

THURSDAY MAY 12th

The commute to Dash’s school is forty minutes, each way. I woke up and realized that there wasn’t enough gas to get him there and back again so I told him we would be playing hooky instead. He was absolutely stoked about this and for a brief, shining moment I felt normal. While he ate pancakes with whipped cream smiley faces and watched a DVD, I hit “refresh” on my e-mail inbox every few seconds waiting for the job offers to come rolling in.

After about an hour, I realized that I would have to do something I promised myself I would never do and downloaded an application for food stamps. After entering in the requested figures, I received a determination: “It appears you are eligible for emergency aid. Please go to your nearest welfare office to apply.”

An hour later Dash and I walked up the steps of the gray, boxy building and even though he had eaten the pancakes and a quesadilla and a green smoothie, I almost said, “Showtime, boo. Act hungry.” I know some may think that my bringing Dash was an intentional act meant to garner sympathy and increase my chances and maybe they would be right but, as it happens, I’m not the only one. The place was crawling with kids.

In the end, all we got was a mountain of paperwork and instructions to gather seven billion-thousand forms and come back the following day. Dash, bless his heart, wanted to stay cause there is a special children’s section with a TV and toys and he wanted in. I love this child. I don’t know how but he took any shame and terror I was feeling and turned it back into hope. If only for a moment and sometimes, I've learned this year, a moment is all it takes. We watched Shrek for a couple of minutes and then headed back home.

FRIDAY MAY 13th

That’s right, Friday the 13th. I got Dash back to school so relieved that the next three days I would only have to worry about myself. I still wasn’t eating but somehow, between the check cashing place and the welfare office, I could still channel gratitude. There is a very big difference between broke and poor and I knew, as with everything good or bad, a change would come. Plus, I was as skinny as I had ever been. "Hello, hip bones," I thought. "Where have you been all my life?"

For some reason known only to the pack of demonic elves who hang out at my house these days, I decided to pull weeds from my long driveway. It would feel good to be pro-active about something so I parked my car on the street and got to work. A couple hours later I went to move my car back and found a ticket for $58 under my windshield wiper.

It was official. The universe had broken into my house while I slept and tattooed my forehead with the words: OUR BITCH.

To be continued…