Poor me

Poor me - I'm 24, living in tax-credit housing amungst exotic dancers and drug dealers - spending more each month than I bring in and the federal government may actually repo by brain if I don't start ponying up more money toward my student loans. Yes - I'm one sorry sack.

At least that's what I thought BEFORE I went to Target the other day. As I pulled up to the mom and pop killing superstore in my little red convertible, I noticed young woman across the parking lot with her arms seemingly packed with items. As she kept her arms tightly bound to her chest, I noticed she dropped a peice of paper and hopelessly watched it float across the parking lot toward me and my little red convertible.

As I watched her track the peice of paper flying against the ground - I thought I would help her out and pick it up to see if she needed it. Then I realized that this wasn't a reciept or a random piece of paper - it was her paycheck - not a stub, but the actual check. I walked it over to her and as I got closer I realized that the young woman wasn't holding anything. Her arms were impaired and atrophied into a permanet position on her chest. She was frail and had to hold onto a shopping cart for support as she walked to her car. She had watched her paycheck float away with no hope of stopping it. As I handed it to her - she whispered thank you and looked at the pavement, embarassed. I help her to her car and she drove away.

As I walked into Target, I couldn't help but think about how lucky I was and what a self-absorbed baby I had been. I'm healthy (a little plump - but healthy), strong and capable. I'll never know what it feel like to watch my paycheck - my lifeline - float away.

The point here is that I needed something to tell me to get the hell over my self. Thanks Life - I get it.