I’m poor. And I’m not ashamed of it.
Actually, I’m kind of proud of myself for being poor. It’s an accomplishment that many people will never attain.
Some people will go through their whole life and never know what it’s like to experience some of the finer points of poverty like eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner 5 days a week.
My heart goes out to these types of people. The Fortunate Ones. People who’ve always had electricity, nice cars, and proper clothing.
I wasn’t always poor.
I had to work hard at it. I had to quit several jobs without finding new ones.
I had to spend 75% of my paycheck at the bar when I knew my bills would have easily taken 90%.
I had to max out credit cards and never pay on them.
I had to give money to females that I knew would never pay it back. And most importantly I had to move to a small town where $6.00 and hour is considered ‘good money’.
I didn’t know that I was putting myself in line for poverty while I was doing all these things.
I just woke up one day and realized that I couldn’t pay my car note because I only had 11 cents in the bank.
And that’s when it hit me: I’m POOR!