Whatever

So, yeah, I had to put the burnt orange jacket on this morning to walk the dog because I only own one lightweight jacket. And you know it just pisses me off that six years of higher education didn't make me rich enough to afford, say, two jackets or maybe a jacket and a sweatshirt that wasn't lost in the great car repossession of 2005 and never replaced because I spend my extra money, when I have it, on booze like the true fucking trash I am. No, all six years of higher education did for me was move me from the kind of poor person who lives out in the country and shits out some babies for a man she's slowly poisoning with all that fried food to the kind of poor person who's supposed to feel okay about being poor because she has the priviledge of being around "smart" people. The recalcitrant brother's first son's mother is this pissed-off rural Georgia girl whose family's all in the Klan. She has this way of spitting out "Whatever" so that it sizzles in your ear like bacon in a hot pan and stings like flying grease. I say it all the time in her honor, but most days I lack her ability to infuse it with the right amount of bitchy fire. Today, though, walking around my "WT"* neighborhood in my burnt up coat with my shoes I can about put a finger through the bottoms of, I sounded just like her when I was like "whatever."** *Did I tell you how when the Man from GM came to visit me the first thing he said when I pulled onto my street was "This really is a WT neighborhood" and I was like "What the fuck is a WT neighborhood?" and he lowered his voice like there might be someone else in the car who might overhear him and said "White Trash." **I believe this is what the Boy Scout calls impotent rage.