Broke

Anxiety levels are right through the roof - so much so, I'm barely able to function. Like all addicts, I plant emergency supplies or have known sources from which to tap. A packet lies concealed in the truck with a couple of cigs. Around mid morning I take advantage, but it has little effect and I resist the temptation to smoke another.

I sit outside in the cold rather than participate in the lunchroom banter. It's isolate behaviour I learned from an early age. I always used to lose myself somewhere or sit out in the hallway at school - deliberately provoking the teacher for the privilege. There I'd read uninterrupted without being asked dumb questions or told it's math's time, not reading.

It's cold and the smokers come out for a puff. The air's suddenly thick with smoke and dumb comments about laptops at work. I field them okay, but the smoke's making my head reel.

Earlier, I sweep by Presbyterian Social Services to organise a food parcel. We're worse than flat broke at the moment and we've nothing to feed the kids. We had to pay mortgage arrears or lose the house. It was eleventh hour. They oblige, and I pick it up at 4.

Tine's nearly out of gas, but she reckons she'll get home okay. We've been there before, and I'm not confident. The Primera's fuel clock doesn't seem to read properly when it drops below a quarter. I've had to bum a ride to take her some fuel a couple of times. Women always run on empty, they tell me. Tine's faith doesn't run to gas tanks.

So what's to be done? The hits keep coming and logic tells me it's not a coincidence. Misfortune surely doesn't strike this often. Maybe Tine's God is trying to include me in the fold? If I declare myself a Muslim, maybe Allah will take better care of us? My cynicism is well-earned, unfortunately, and I'm not ready for religious dogma at this time. Next Ramadan maybe we'll see?

It's lunchtime now and I'm still cold. I hide outside once again so no-one will notice I've brought no lunch with me today. They've put in coffee machines, but the coffee's foul. Powdered milk, I think, and the word 'Nescafe' should've alerted me. Soup's vile, chicken allegedly, and I'm still starving.

I've had nothing to eat for 24 hours. I dreamed up excuses, but, the truth is I can't bear to see the kids go hungry. If I don't eat, that leaves more for the children. I'm from a long line of martyrs.

It's all nothing more noble than guilt, of course. Guilt because I can't provide the basic necessities for my family. My upbringing was strictly 60's Protestant where the man was the provider and women raised the children. 70's deprogramming ejected all that, of course, as gender equality raised their colours. But, my responsibilities have been planted so deep no amount of modern rationalisation has shifted it.

Left the yard early this morning. Storm front coming and there's not much chance of work. Yesterday, I arranged a food parcel from PSS and picked it up after work. No milk or bread, unfortunately, so I don't know what Tine's going to organise for school lunches. Vegemite on Weetbix, the kids have already rejected. No fruit for four days but the PSS gave us some apples the size of grapes. We thought they were cherries at first.

The nicotine withdrawals have kicked in big time. I can't take so many meds for the depression it's not funny. Pretty much nothing's completely safe for me. By morning smoko, I've had enough, mumble to a supervisor and split.

Tine's home as well - there not being enough gas in the car to get her to work. It's crappy weather and I don't want her running out somewhere. She's exhausted, in any case.

Don