Say you don't need no diamond rings / And I'll be satisfied / Tell me you want the kind of things / That money just can't buy

I know this isn't very punk rock of me, but I fucking hate being poor. Like, I goddamn loathe it. I don't really want to be rich. I mean, I wouldn't refuse gobs of cash, but it isn't a life-goal I'm actively seeking. However, this poverty shit is getting really old. I'd like to be comfortable, you know?
I think I am just particularly depressed because my friend told me how much is in her savings account and it is more than quadruple what I have to my name in general. I've worked for the same company now for nine years, and I work all the time. I am always working. I don't have nice things, or many things at all, really. My car has no air conditioning, a busted headlight lens, and the driver's side window doesn't roll down. I don't really want more things, but I'd like a secure place to live and a car I can depend on. If anything happened to my car right now, I'd just be doomed, you know? I can't even really pay for the health costs I need, either. I have a possible abscess on my tooth, and I can't afford the dentist. I have insurance . . . the co-pay is too much for me. It's frustrating. I mean, I knew that I'd be poor for life, but I didn't really think I'd be this poor for this long with this little. In the past few years, my salary has decreased by several thousands as my cost of living has increased several thousands of dollars. I'm not so poor that, say, I'm eating out of garbage cans, but I've been that poor before and I am frightfully close to being that poor again. There's no cushion. It upsets me because there are some of my friends with money who don't understand where I am coming from. Some are even judgemental when I say I can't afford something, or say strange things like, "Maybe you shouldn't go out then if you can't afford to get your teeth done." I don't "go out" all the time - probably once every two weeks. When I do, I spend between ten and fifteen dollars. At that rate, it would take me nearly five years (without the cost of treatment rising at all) to save up to have my teeth worked on. So, until I am thirty-six, I would have no social life at all to save up for the current cost of treatment. To me, that makes very, very little sense. I'm not bitching just to bitch, though. (Okay, maybe a little I am.) I am bitching because today this lady at the grocery really made me mad. This woman with WIC cheques was checking out. She had a little boy with her who looked like he was about six or seven. Anyway, the lady was talking to him (I'm guessing he was her son) about how he had a good report from school, and so he could pick one candy from the rack. These candies range in price from forty-five cents to a dollar and nine cents. The kid picked a sixty-five cent candy. Out of nowhere, the woman in between us in line then piped up and said, "So, you pay for your groceries with my tax dollars so that you can buy CANDY with your money?" Holy shit. What a fucking cunt. That's all I could think. I mean, it is a treat - a treat for a little fucking boy, a little boy who got a good report from school. Who gives a shit what his mother has done to bring her to the lowly, lowly state as public assistance? (I've never been on the dole - I've worked since I was fourteen . . . and I'm not talking some bullshit babysitting job, either. I worked my way through high school and college and ever since. I'm a worker. Which is weird, because I've met soccer moms who have never worked outside the home a day in their lives who have more judgement against welfare recipients than I've ever had.) He's a little fucking boy. Is he supposed to wait until his mother saves up, gets a better job, and works her way out of poverty to have a treat now and then? A sixty-five-cent chocolate? The mother-type just sheepishly looked at her embarrassed. The lady continued to mumble about welfare moms and Obama under her breath. I debated in my head saying something to her, but ultimately I decided I didn't want to potentially draw the kid into this - he seemed oblivious about what was going on . . . his little hands were wrapped around his coveted candy and his eyes were wide with anticipation looking forward to the moment he'd get to eat it. All I could think was: no matter how poor this family is, doesn't every kid deserve that? I felt bad for the mom-like character; I wish I could have taken back that lady's comment so the woman would still have the joy of that moment when she got to provide something for the kid. I really wish that a person's value wasn't so intertwined with how much money they make, and I wish like hell that my wages provided the modest lifestyle that I want. Right now, it isn't adding up.