So at some point I decided to take steps to try to not have life suck. Part of that involved going to the bank and dropping off some cash so that I'd be able to make a payment on time. Or, less late. Or something. I don't even remember.
While I was there it seemed like a good idea to do two other things. One was getting records of my account for the past year to show that, no, I'm not raking in $4,000 dollars or (whatever the fuck you think I make) a semester so could you please stop fucking treating me like I am SSA? Another was to find out if there was any chance of converting some of my credit card debt to a non-predatory loan. I figured the answer was no, but I also figured it was worth asking because nearly 10,000 dollars of debt gathering a high interest is not a good thing.
The answer was no, and I ended up feeling sorry for the loan lady because she looked at my debt, my income, and really, really wanted to help but, like I figured, it was impossible. Perhaps I should feel sorry for myself that my situation is pathetic enough that someone who gets asked about loans all the time was visibly affected by my pathos and to the point that she felt bad that no matter how hard she tried she could not find a single thing she could do that would help. I mean, things have got to be pretty bad when it isn't, "Let me tell you what we can do for you," but instead, "Oh my fucking god, let me see if there's something I can do to help you."
But the fact is, I'm used to it. She, obviously, wasn't. It's not really surprising, most people with no collateral and extremely low income don't go to the credit union (I called it a bank, didn't I? fuck it, I'm not going to figure out where and fix it) to see if they can get a loan to refinance their big fucking credit card debt, now do they? Maybe she's not used to seeing people in my situation.
Anyway, that's not my point. This is the point. I figured it didn't hurt to ask. I was wrong. Her doomed to fail attempt to help involved going through the motions on the off chance it would work. Result: hard inquiry, my credit scores take an automatic hit.
Now it's not huge, and my credit scores sucked anyway, but fuck was that rubbing salt in.
Actually, I've been getting surprised by my credit scores resilience of late. I keep on fucking up and missing payments by days or hours or even less. (After 8pm EST same day payments are disallowed, I got a $35 dollar late fee for being 30 minutes late on a payment four days ago,) This string of late payments, which has cost god knows how much in late fees, has not changed that fact that every time I check my score for getting payments in on time goes infinitesimally higher.
How much higher? Not a damned clue. Infinitesimal. It's been stuck at 99.5% forever but it keeps on saying that it's improved since last time, so all I know is that the cumulative improvement has never been enough to kick it up to the next tenth of a percent.
One of February's missed payments (there's only been one in March so far, don't remember January) means that I'm expected to pay more this month so I'm going to have to find some cash (or withdraw some, I've still got a bit of money online having not used all of it to pay down debt) and get it into my bank stat and I'll still be cutting other payments dangerously close.
So it fucking goes.
You know what I worry about? That I'll send in the information to the SSA and they'll somehow find some screwed up way of interpreting it that means they'll pay me even less. Shouldn't be possible, and I need to fucking send it first, but I worry.
And oh shit I haven't sent out that copy of The Princess Who Saved Herself yet. I'm a bad person. Yes, Lonespark, we should send one of the ones I left with you. I demonstrably suck at getting to the post office.
I need a loan. I haven't run the calculations this month, but it was a bit over $9,000 in credit card debt. Credit card interest is the interest of loan-sharks who other lone-sharks derisively call "usurers." If I could pay that fucking mess off, even if I needed to pay the money used back (hence "loan" not "large gift of enough free money to start a small business") maybe I'd have a bright future.
I don't want to worry about this shit anymore. I want to write stories.
It's like gravity though, it keeps on pulling me back to it.
(In part because there are 11 different days each month on which I need to get this bill or that paid, and it fucking matters which days they are because if I had to pay them all at once I couldn't. And then I have quarterly and trimester bills that come around too, and oil that depends on the weather.)