VirginiaEddie

For the past three months I’ve been job hunting. I don’t know about you but when I’m in pained pursuit of a job I have a hard time relaxing, or relaxing, or relaxing. I cry a lot. I feel guilty when I eat a nice dinner. I only turn on the TV at night. I’m hard on myself. I’m rude to my boyfriend. I’m not alone. I’m not free. Money lives in a place in my mind like a moldy supervisor. It’s shacked up next to other concepts that used to be more interesting, like poetry or Chanel or indie rock. I don’t have enough money. I want more money. I used to have money. My parents have money. How much money will I need, and etc. It’s quite boring. I want to keep designing clothes, but fabric costs money. I need a job in the industry so I can learn the ropes, but the economy is packed tight. There’s no room to let anyone else in to get some of its money. Money, Money, Money. The word starts to look silly the more you see it, the more you say it. Money is for parking tickets lately and never for a new handbag. That’s what I hate most about money. The way it defines what one wants and what one needs. The way there’s never enough. The way it seems to dictate my every move.

Money could care less that I love fashion. I have half-heartedly accepted Forever 21 into my life. But money won’t even stop there. When a girl is jobless, knockoffs are too much. Now fashion is something I long for more than money. My job hunt for a something where I can be around designers or designs or buyers or sellers is punctuated by my want for new clothes. It’s sick really. I mean, people are dying and being tortured in other countries and I’m sitting here in my boyfriend’s apartment in Beverly Hills whining about not having a new handbag. My stomach turned when I saw a pair of Balenciaga sunglasses yesterday in a magazine. It’s like I’m genetically programmed to crave fashion. Body hurts, much touch Prada…

My mother gave me money to have my hair done. But the girl messed up my hair. She took my money and messed up my hair and said that was the best she could do. That’s what I hate about money. It talks, but silently. I silently hate her. She’s just a girl who’s not that good at her job, but now I hate her. She took my money. Money makes people nasty. How are relationships going these days with the Dow Jones down? Aren’t stereotypical housewives everywhere furious? I would be. Personally, I miss having expensive dinners with the man who was courting me. Now I eat store bought pizza with the guy who calls me his girlfriend. These two things both have their greatness, but saving money is no fun. I want to feel raw Toro melting in my mouth. I want to give money to homeless people again. These are the things of life. Instead I stay in, like a big fat geek. I can’t go out there. Everything calls my name. Please hire me, Universe, into the fashion industry. I need money.