The Bag Lady Papers Read Online Free PDF Page B

the two pies and leave, but that feeling of being tricked stays with me all night.
    I wake up at 4:46—exactly—almost every morning now. Sometimes I take a tranquilizer to get back to sleep for a couple of hours but mostly I bolt out of bed as fast as I can,before the anxiety demons rev their engines, ready to mow me down emotionally.
    This morning, though, I sit back on a tangle of pillows, with my steaming coffee in a Herend mug with its beautiful gold and deep red design. It better never break; I won’t be able to afford another one. In a short while the rising sun will ricochet off the glass skyscrapers in the distance and my room with turn pale gold in the morning light.
    How long will I be able to live here? Bob, my tax attorney and old friend, actually paid an emergency house call the day after the MF debacle and laid out some short-term plans.
    â€œYou’re too traumatized to move,” he advised. “Just assume you’ll be staying here and let’s revisit the situation in a few months. I know you. You’ll make money again. I’m sure of it.”
    Bob’s words and confident attitude helped restore in me a scintilla of calm. I was dead certain I’d have to find somewhere else to live—a dark, small, porcupine hole of a place—but at least now I have some time!
    I must sell the little cottages in Florida and the Hamptons as soon as possible and pay back the loans. But I am one of many sellers looking to get rid of property in the middle of a recession. How long will it take for someone to buy them? What if no one does? Then what will I do? It’s painful to part with places I’ve scraped and painted and furnished and made my own. But I cannot let myself become sentimental. I need money and they have some value.
    I command my brain to SNT (Stop Negative Thinking)!This takes an enormous effort of will but it’s something I must do. Otherwise I’ll just get paralyzed by the frightening reality of my situation. And I’ll never leave this bed.
    I’m in a beautiful apartment and I’ve lived a great and interesting life. I admit that I love beautiful things—high-thread-count sheets, old china, watches, jewelry, Hermès purses, Louboutin red-lipstick-soled shoes. I like expensive French milled soaps, good wines, and white truffles. With long years of steady work, I have been able to afford such things, and they’ve brought me pleasure. I have given extravagant gifts like diamond earrings and even a Rolex watch, and that has brought me pleasure, too. I’ve traveled a lot and loved every minute of it. In this past year, I’ve been to Laos, Cambodia, India, Russia, and most recently to Berlin for my first solo art show. Will I ever be able to explore exotic places again? Probably not.
    Negative thinking again! Stop immediately! Self pity, too. Get over it!
    I will myself to concentrate on the sun as it begins its magic, and as its rays transform my room I muse about the parts of my life that I am most proud of. About trying to better women’s lives with the pink ribbon, about giving money to a friend’s daughter to send her through college (no, she never knew it was from me), about secretly paying to have my mother’s memoirs published (by a vanity press, but she never realized it), about the years I spent helping those who cannot read and mentoring retired schoolteachers, about helping friends and even strangers in any way I could.I sit back and wish I’d done much more. I will do more, I will give more back, I vow, and it is this impulse that finally rouses me out of bed.
    I’ve written two blogs for Tina and I’ve been paid for them. I have enough to last for only a few more months but the small check means I can still earn money.
    I will need to find a job. But what? But how? Here’s an idea: set up a lemonade stand on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach and charge a million bucks a glass, save a few dollars