every time i open my credit card statement, i want to barf.

it's like the jack in the box. you crank the handle and it's all fun and games and then when you're least expecting it WHAM you get knocked in the teeth by a scary clown thing mounted on a spring.
arthur, as i so affectionately call the piece of plastic that will eventually be my death, is said scary clown thing. the paper that his credit limit is so widely stretched on is the coiled spring on which he is mounted.
and boy, did i just get sucker punched right in the teef.
if it's not late payments that add up (i honest to god cannot remember what date i need to pay my credit card bill by; it's a magical date that evades my knowledge), it's the fact that the amount used is far greater than the amount remaining that make my insides shrivel up and wish to leave my body via force. the dry heaves start when i see the sombre envelope in the mail, so nicely addressed to my full name. i know i'm in for it then. just like you know you're in trouble when your parents use your full name AND your middle name.
with shaking hands i tear open the envelope only to be met with a nicely folded stack of paper luring me into a false sense of security. then BLAMO you owe more than is truly decent for your budget, please pay us or we will rape you with interest. would you like to pay with cash, promise of first born child OR vital organ raffles? personal cheques aren't accepted.

now i might be going out on a limb here, but i think i speak for all indebted students and workers alike when i say whomever invented the idea of a credit card can go lynch themselves right now if they haven't already done so already. and if they can't take that leap o' faith, i will be more than willing to assist them in their endeavour.

good gracious getting a credit card was the stupidest thing i've ever done. yeah sure, it's helped in some sticky situations, but my fuck, is is bad when your life is one big sticky situation after another.

these situations i continually seem to find myself in have lead me to that precarious moment when you hold the credit card in one hand and the scissors in the other, perspiring over possibly one of the most important things you will do in your lifetime. do you cut the card, thereby freeing yourself from debt (haaa laughable) or do you continue feeding the beast?
i found myself in my kitchen this morning, bleary eyed from sleep weeping silently over this vey decision.

arthur lives another day. bastard.

b; old enough to know better; attached.
college student of historical events, future educator. canadienne. i like to read, but i don't do it enough. i run. i like zombies. i'm obsessed with all things batman, except not batfleck. i'm a terrible video game player, but i'm getting better through attrition. i can play piano pretty good, though. the sound of city streets soothes me, but i love the silence of the forest. curious stargazer.

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every time i open my credit card statement, i want to barf.

it's like the jack in the box. you crank the handle and it's all fun and games and then when you're least expecting it WHAM you get knocked in the teeth by a scary clown thing mounted on a spring.
arthur, as i so affectionately call the piece of plastic that will eventually be my death, is said scary clown thing. the paper that his credit limit is so widely stretched on is the coiled spring on which he is mounted.
and boy, did i just get sucker punched right in the teef.
if it's not late payments that add up (i honest to god cannot remember what date i need to pay my credit card bill by; it's a magical date that evades my knowledge), it's the fact that the amount used is far greater than the amount remaining that make my insides shrivel up and wish to leave my body via force. the dry heaves start when i see the sombre envelope in the mail, so nicely addressed to my full name. i know i'm in for it then. just like you know you're in trouble when your parents use your full name AND your middle name.
with shaking hands i tear open the envelope only to be met with a nicely folded stack of paper luring me into a false sense of security. then BLAMO you owe more than is truly decent for your budget, please pay us or we will rape you with interest. would you like to pay with cash, promise of first born child OR vital organ raffles? personal cheques aren't accepted.

now i might be going out on a limb here, but i think i speak for all indebted students and workers alike when i say whomever invented the idea of a credit card can go lynch themselves right now if they haven't already done so already. and if they can't take that leap o' faith, i will be more than willing to assist them in their endeavour.

good gracious getting a credit card was the stupidest thing i've ever done. yeah sure, it's helped in some sticky situations, but my fuck, is is bad when your life is one big sticky situation after another.

these situations i continually seem to find myself in have lead me to that precarious moment when you hold the credit card in one hand and the scissors in the other, perspiring over possibly one of the most important things you will do in your lifetime. do you cut the card, thereby freeing yourself from debt (haaa laughable) or do you continue feeding the beast?
i found myself in my kitchen this morning, bleary eyed from sleep weeping silently over this vey decision.

arthur lives another day. bastard.