Thus hubby's been collecting rejection letters. He, too, is an out of work teacher, but of the art professor variety. He's slowly being turned away from every position he applied for. And since his retail job evaporated about a year ago due to the corporate headquarters being run by highly trained monkeys (who closes a store that's making a profit?!?), the future looks drab. Not bleak; I'm forcing optimism here. But only because I'm not sure it could get much worse.
Oh, how about the $100K+ in student loan debt?
Like I said, I'm trying to be optimistic. But after a while, it's hard. Really hard. When today's letter came I immediately grabbed the closest bottle of booze at hand (green apple vodka, in case you were wondering). I'm currently staying awake long enough to go to bed sober. And this was seven hours ago. We've already been without health insurance for almost a year; I seem to live in perpetual fear that one (or both, god forbid) will get into an accident (because other people are morons) and need medical attention. And it's not even a horrific accident that can set us back... one false move while chopping tomatoes and we're in the poorhouse. I mean, we're right on the cusp here. Outside of education loans, we really don't have a lot of debt and are able to squeak by by keeping our champagne dreams well below our beer budget (hey, did you know Aldi's has beer now? We're living the dream, my friend). But when I say we're able to squeak by, I mean only JUST able to squeak by...
Our neighbor is a theater history professor. He's the perfect man for me to be living next too... he's funny, crude, loves my dogs, is GAY!!!, and loves theater. He came over last week for dinner with his partner (who is equally fantastic) and was regaling us with stories of how *his* professor in grad school received 150 rejection letters before he got his professorship. He saved them all.
I don't think I can do 150. But I have a feeling we're going to come close.
::drinks myself into oblivion::