I just closed out a chatbox with a customer service rep from my credit card company. Owing to Hurricane Sandy, I missed a couple of my proctoring gigs, which meant that I wasn't able to make my (growing) minimum payment last week. When I finally mustered up the cojones to actually look at the statement last night, my heart, stomach, and intestines all did a slow roll inside my ribcage. The late fee was insane!

Anyway, the person I spoke with was compassionate and reversed the fee, and agreed to sweep the minimum amount out of my account today. I am truly grateful.

But I also feel like a schmuck. I am 38, with an Ivy League B.A. and an M.Phil. (soon to be a PhD) from a highly respected school, and I am still relying on my parents' help (ach, the guilt!!) and scraping my pockets to make minimum payments.

I am not materialistic, but this is frightening. I've always believed that with my skills and interests, I'd need to hustle to gain a foothold in this shitty capitalist system of ours. Thing is, I used to think I could hustle, and even that I might enjoy cutting my own path. But now I just feel tired, unmotivated, and good-for-nothing. I doubt my ability to do even the most menial of jobs. (My current job is pretty menial–a far cry from my previous writing and editing gigs.)

One glint of light: after making a sincere vow to clean up my diet five days ago, I am starting to feel the effects, most notably a clearer head. This is great news. My brain haze had gotten so bad, I was actually beginning to suspect a neurological condition.

I am so eager to heal, but so afraid to move ahead. I know that there are others here who find themselves in that boat. I want all of you to know that I am pulling for you. For all of us.