Thought for the Moment
I know the beggars I saw this evening when I was headed toward I-96 were probably what others have called "professional panhandlers", because I don't think real people in need always run in groups. (I may be wrong, though…it's really hard to tell the difference.
But I know when one of my new friends says that she's so poor that she didn't have anything to eat today, she's telling the truth. (I don't know why…I just do. Probably because of being so frequently tight on money, myself.)
So I've decided I bitch too much. I know I'll never remember this in the future when I'm busy complaining, but at least I'll have recorded it for posterity now. (I should probably print this off and put it in my diary.)
I whine about being forty to fifty pounds overweight. I forget that I've never gone hungry–at least, not because I didn't just break down and eat something for the sake of being full, no matter how much I didn't "feel like it" when I was considering options.
I feel embarrassed when I admit that I'm 28 and still living with my dad. I forget that not only do some people not have homes, it wasn't so long ago that my father was threatening to kick me out. (Or that I probably would've been on the street several times over if I'd moved in with my mother.)
I tell people I want out of retail, that I don't want to work in that industry for the rest of my life, that I hate Black Friday. I should be thankful that I've had a job in tough times, when other people struggle to eat and keep their homes.
I may not say the same things three days or three weeks from now; but when it comes down to it, I'd rather be a fat sales associate that lives with her father all her life. It's better than being poor and homeless.