“Damn. More statements and credit card offers I didn’t ask for. I told these bastards that I wanted to go paperless. How many times do I gotta enroll to save a tree? Wait a second. What’s this overly professional yet plain envelope? Why is it from Ohio? Only time I get something from Ohio is when I been sent to collections–f*ck!”
Not the way I wanted to start my week. Nothing gets me fired up like an attempt to throweth shade upon thy credit score. I hadn’t checked my mail in 3-4 days. And when I did, I usually just brought the pile up to my third floor apartment, opened the door, prayed I didn’t see a roach even though I ain’t seen one in a year, then dumped the pile on my much neglected 2-seater. Most of my time is spent with my 3-cush mocha lover, Couchneesha. Some of yall know about her. If you don’t, then you’ll learn about her soon enough. She’s the opposite of what a good girlfriend or wife should be. She makes me tired at the wrong times and inhibits my motivation. And like a girl that I’ve been with for a while even though I know she’s bad for me, I still love ‘er. Wait, that was too emo. *Clears throat* She lucky she fit her wide ass through that door. Make me some grits heaux!
The last time I really cared about the mail was around my birthday when I knew gifts were coming. Other than that, I’ve really had no desire to open it. It’s the same every month. The only thing that changes in the contents is the number at the bottom. I know that before it even gets here because I see it online. I’m repeatedly telling myself that I’ll open some of it soon to make sure I’m not missing anything. I said the same about getting blinds and/or curtains for the living room window when I moved into my Harlem abode. That was about a year ago and I still have a temporary dusty solution. I just don’t care enough.
I care about that credit score though.
I was sittin’ on the couch staring at this debt statement for 10 dollars and 28 f*cking cents. The company that sent me to the coy collectors was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. I had seen the random letters come in the mail, but I had no idea who they were and thought it was more junk. My 2-seater was happy. I indulged her with my presence. Piece by piece (pause), I went through the mail from this company and there was definitely 90-days-worth of invoices for this $10.28. I was pissed — more so at myself because this could have been avoided. Then my phone rang. The timing told me it had to be the creditors so I answered. It was a creditor. It just wasn’t thee creditor that was expected. Macy’s was calling because my payment was due 48 hours ago. I told them it got taken care of last night, but that didn’t assuage the growing disappointment.
“Da f*ck is wrong with you? Twice in one night Slim?”
That’s not what she said and I didn’t wanna be saying it either.
Tiring from the stress of it all, I warmed up my signature chicken alfredo and sat down with the television on mute. My living room looked more cluttered than it did a month ago. It became pretty obvious what had been happening to me. I was in a bubble of routines and self-interest. And where there are routines, there are oopsie-daisies. And where there’s self-interest that teeters on obsession, some sh*t just doesn’t get done.
My eagerness to succeed had and has always been a friend and enemy. I’d go to work, come home, write, figure out some web business stuff, talk to a couple friends online, then go to sleep, work, come home, write, figure out some web business stuff, talk to a couple friends online, then go to sleep. This repeated itself for a month — maybe 2. I’d been running on the adrenaline of it all and gotten a lot done. But in the process of that, I neglected some fundamental aspects of my life. It kinda reminded me of sophomore year where I disappeared for 9 weeks, 3 days, 3 hours and 15 minutes then was dropped back into my life with a bunch of purple and gold stuff and groupies.
I looked at my phone bill and only called my mom twice in 4 weeks. My outgoing text messages were only to about 3 people. I scanned my email and found invites to a bunch of events that I opted not to attend or completely forgot about. Facebook and inbound text messages had piled up and some people
knew thought I had been ignoring them. You know, the one-way exchange where someone asks you something, then asks if you’re around and to get back to them, then gets angry and says f*ck-it-nevermind? Yeah, that.
And what do I have to show for the month(s) of routine grindism? You’re looking at it or some version of it. I really do love this stuff. I just need to get better at balancing what I like to be doing with what I need and want to be doing. I need to call home more, maintain contact with friends and family, and start opening the damn mail. If I can do those things, I think I’ll avoid the debt collectors and angry messages. Sounds easy enough right? As for what I want right now…
Walking out of the apartment in 2020 AD wondering what happened,