As I continue to pull in eleven dollars an hour, I’ve also continued to email my resumes for “middle class salary jobs” such as admin assistant, executive assistant, office manager – all positions within the income range that I used to make: $45,000 to $50,000. It’s fucking hard to remind myself everyday that the mail clerk position in midtown for a designer shoe company is only temporary. Sometimes it feels like forever, the more time that I spend there, the more time that I waste. What the hell?! This is only a temp job, I’m not supposed to let this get to me. But time begins to move, my own words desert me. I spend my eight hour work days feeling like an absolute outsider and that everyone disapproved of me. This type of day job also contributes to my daily depression. My name is Lorenzo Basque, I’m thirty years old and I earn eleven dollars an hour. This is one of the lowest point of my fucking life. I called my psychiatrist, Suzanne Lessing, if it’s still possible for me to have sessions with her despite the fact that I’m broke.

Fortunately, she agreed to see me on the same day that I called. I was waiting in her office while looking at the view of Central Park from the window. When she entered the room, I smelled the scent of a designer perfume. Either CHANEL or GUCCI. I turned around and there she was, my beautiful psychiatrist who still agreed to treat my fucked up life for free! She smiled at me like a soccer mom would smile to her children after making them breakfast. I sat down on the comfortable couch across from her.

“So, how are you?!” She asked.

“How am I?! That should be fucking obvious!” I replied.

“Just tell me how you feel right now..”

“I feel like shit to be perfectly honest. I lost my apartment in East Village, none of my friends and so called family picked up their phones since finding out that I went broke. I’m currently working as a mail clerk making eleven dollars an hour. I wasn’t able to write anything for two months and I feel like destiny has singled me out! What the fuck have I done that I have to go through a shitty life like this?!”

“You ever contemplate suicide?”

“I thought about it two months ago.”

“Then what happened?”

“As I was going through a wave of suicidal thoughts, I started writing again. A character appeared in my imagination and the story began writing itself..”

“What’s the character like?”

“It’s about a beautiful woman who’s dealing with immortality. She’s five hundred years old but she still looks like that she’s in her twenties, and she moves to a different city every five years so that no one will notice or know anything about her. I’m actually enjoying writing about her.”

“Why did you choose the topic of immortality? Do you want to live forever?”

“I do actually. It’s kind of ironic because I was being suicidal during that moment and then an immortal character manifested.”

“That is very interesting. I think you should continue on writing about her. And I’m very glad that you are writing again.”

“Writing is  more of like a necessity for me. One of the basic things just like food and water.”

“Does your character have a name?”

“Yes. Her name is Bettina Strauss. She five hundred years old and has lived around the world and continues  to do so in order to avoid being noticed.”

“I think it will be a beautiful story. Is it a novel?”

“Yes, I’m hoping to get it done before this year ends. ”

I wrapped up my session with Suzanne talking about the character that I created. Before I left her office, she told me that I could see her anytime I need to and should not worry about the cost. A psychiatrist of her caliber charges $350 an hour. I am so glad that she offered that help for me.

I decided to visit my “safe place” in Manhattan. Whenever I feel vulnerable, defeated, or accomplished, I always take time to go to Lincoln Center in Upper West Side and stand in front of the water fountain. It’s kind of funny because when I first moved here in New York four years ago, I did the exact the same thing when I used to live off the food samples at WHOLE FOODS, TRADER JOE’S and FOOD EMPORIUM. And it’s pretty fucking depressing that I’m back in this place. I’m back to right where I started.

As I stood in front of the water fountain, I envisioned the dreams and goals that I have, the ones that came true and the ones that didn’t. Then suddenly, I felt something wrong, it seems like that the past four years has been a fucking tease. Life has cheated and tricked me in making me believe that it brings nothing but goodness but the truth is, it’s a horrible reality. Without knowing, tears started streaming down my face while I stare with complete emptiness in front of the fountain. I was reminded that life isn’t fair, God certainly has never been fair. I felt alone and singled out by every friend that I know. I looked around me and nobody was around. I wiped off the tears in my face with my palms. Out of the blue, my phone started ringing, I answered it and it was from one of firms that I interviewed a couple of weeks ago. It’s for an Administrative Assistant position, starting salary is $45,000, plus health insurance and three weeks paid vacation. The Hiring Manager asked me if I could start on Monday next week and I happily replied yes. Finally! A day job that can rescue me from the verge of poverty. I moved out of the co-ed dorm in Brooklyn  and eventually moved back to Manhattan. I feel validated again. Most of all, I sensed that this life actually gives a fuck about me. A positive situation like this enabled me to focus on the new novel that I was working on, I told my agent, Sonia Groff and she sounded pretty pleased about my situation. Sometimes, a good situation also fuels creativity, negative experiences aren’t my only catalysts in writing fiction.

TO BE CONTINUED….