"its your job to dance and smile…"-The Format

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

No wait, that's not what I said. I promise you, knock on my door at 8 am, the first words you hear won't be, "Who's there?"

"Go Away!"

I rolled over, checked the clock, and closed my eyes. Visualizing through my eyelids, I wandered the hallway, the livingroom, out the door, and out the screen. The mystery knocker again came rapping. Poe invaded my dreams, bird on my chest, gently tapping. This morn's sleep would return, nevermore.

Sigh...

Knock-knock.

Decisions loom. Then gather together to weave a nice rug. A patchwork of questions (yeah, I'm taking this bad metaphor train over the cliff, hang on! Chuga-chuga WOO WOO! ) Do I feel lucky? Is it a solicitor, or Ed McMahon? IRS or DHL?

Dirty Harry Raven stops pecking at my chest gazes into my eyes and asks, "Well do ya punk?"

Gaaah! I roll out of bed grab a shirt and shorts and dress-stumble down the hallway.

Thump!

Ow!

Wall.

Over compensate: Other wall.

Uh!

My glasses still sit on the alarm clock; I'm going in blind. I'm also going in with my shirt inside out. Too late to change that now. I hope it's not on backwards too, or the tag is going to stick in my mouth as soon as I say hello.

I practice, "Hello?" nope, no tag.

Flipping both the locks, I jerk the door open. It's DHL. Or at least the colors are right. It's either that or a Hot Dog on a Stick representative, but I don't think they make house calls. Especially at 8 am. I don't see a funny hat. Must be DHL

"Package."

"Ok."

"Sign." He holds out an electronic device shaped like an old printing calculator. I try to follow the blur that's his finger, but it's tough. I think there's a screen…where's the pen? Oh, I didn't say that out loud.

"Pen?"

He points again. Same place, different object. There's a long shadow laying over the screen.

I write, he asks, "Name?"

I tell him, he punches something in, hands me an envelope, and hurries away down my walkway.

"Thanks…" I say to his back. It's as unresponsive as his front.

Flap-flap-flap. The raven. Over my head, out the door, and onto the DHL man's shoulder he lands, picking nits of discontent.

Inside, I open the package to see what gifts the world has brought me today.

My glasses, I need those first. Otherwise I'm not seeing anything but color and shape. Well movement. I see movement pretty well, but if the envelope has movement. It's going in the trash, unopened, anyway.

There's no movement. I prod it with a steak knife to be sure. There's no life; It's my new health insurance plan.

Oh thank God!

It's not such good news that I got it, but it's a great reminder that I can add 200 bucks to my paycheck each month after the new year. I'm still paying for MyUnwife. Come '08, I'm dependant free. Petty? I've told you, I've got to take the victories when they hit, and $200 a month is quite the coup. As it stands, I'm still spending more each month than I'm making. The only thing that's saving me, is the money we split from savings 3 months before she left for necessities. She bought a fridge, I saved it for housing. It's like the ant and the grasshopper. Trust me, I'd rather be a grasshopper, but that's not a choice for me right now. So, every month I bite off a little savings and pass it around the bill collector in the colony.

Come January though, that may change a bit. I think I can break even. I just have to make January. I still can't afford landing on Boardwalk, but so long as I stay between Baltic and Oriental, I should be fine.

It's kind of exciting. This is the first time my bills are so low. I have a 2 credit cards with outstanding balances, but those are from the things I needed to buy when she moved out. Things I didn't spend the cash on. I know, I'm paying more in interest, but It's easier to afford that than to cash out. It works. It's my fragile eco-balance, I can survive. Survival is good. Survival is one more small victory. At least until tomorrow morning when the raven returns.