The BC Hydro Whammy

I was in such a good mood, too, this evening. I got loads of work done, played with Stella for almost an hour without getting bitten, and even enjoyed several hours without heartburn. I chatted with friends, played a bit of ADOM--it was a wonderful day. I was in one of those ebullient moods you get, all chirpy and lively and full of energy. And then...and then I had to check my snail-mail. I forgot to do it this morning, and yesterday morning as well, so I figured I'd better before my mailbox exploded.

So I moseyed on down, not a care in the world. I was even whistling as I peered in my mailslot--whistling! Ah, if I'd only known! I peered in, and there it was, the death of me in a brown paper envelope. (One might otherwise refer to it as my hydro bill.) At first, I thought I was reading it amiss. I couldn't possibly owe six hundred and fifty dollars, could I? That's almost two-thirds of what I'll earn this month. It just couldn't be...except, it could, and it was, and it even gets worse!

See, it works like this: when you first open up an account, BC Hydro charges you a monthly rate based on minimal projected energy usage. However, they keep track of the amount of energy you're really using, and charge you the difference at the end of the year. To make matters worse, they also raise your monthly payments from that day forth. I did not know this, because I never read my hydro bill, except to see how much I owe. My monthly rate has now quadrupled, although that's the least of my worries. What will happen if I--when I can't give them six hundred and fifty dollars by the nineteenth of this month? Will my power be shut off right away, or do I get a bit of a grace period, as long as I keep paying what I can?

How did I ever suck up so much power? There's only one working lightbulb in my flat, if you don't count the ones in the bathroom. The telly's hardly on, except at night, and the computer--how much power does a computer use? There's that dehumidifier, I suppose, but I just got that. It must've been all the heating I used during the winter. I had the thermostat up to thirty degrees all the time; I can't bear the cold. And I had the windows cracked, to let in some fresh air. What have I done? I should've read my hydro bills more carefully! Oh, if I'd only known!

Let me think, let me think. How bad is it, really, when all's said and done?

Debts

Visa bill: $5,129.64
Telephone bill: $97.42
Cable bill: $77
Health insurance bill: $156, I think, or maybe $216. Can't find the damn thing.
Bank account overdraft: $120
Miscellaneous bills and expenses: $40 (approximately)
Hydro bill from hell: $652.15
eBay bill: $92.97

Total: $6,365.18, assuming my health insurance bill is only $156.

Credits

PayPal account: $71.06 (already in the process of being transferred to my bank account, where it will immediately be engulfed by my overdraft)
Miscellaneous uncashed cheques: $32.49
Loose change: $0.29
Expected payments for this month's work, which may not, in fact, arrive till next month (or later): $1,020
Late payments for work already done, which may arrive tomorrow, or not at all: $3,200

Ah, what to do, what to do? Maybe I can move into one of those hotels on Hastings Street, the really cheap ones. Do they--do they at least have private showers? If they do, it wouldn't be too bad, at all. Failing that, there are loads of ratty apartments on the East side, up around Fraser and Tenth, sort of thing. I already live in what Frits described as a "hobo apartment": large boxes instead of furniture; clothes piled up on shelves due to a lack of dresser space; a couch which is also a bed; a coat which is also a blanket; random papers scattered everywhere. It's not as if I'm in the lap of luxury, or anything. I'd hardly know the difference, except that I'd have to wash my clothes (and my one lonely dish) by hand, and it'd be harder to get groceries delivered and mail picked up.

If I stopped doing digital art, I might even be able to sell the computer. I've got friends with scanners, after all. They could post my work on eBay for me, maybe.

(Bizarre observation, apropos of nothing: it's really rather fascinating, in a scary sort of way, watching myself slipping further and further towards complete financial disaster. What will happen next? Will I engineer a pocket miracle for myself, or will I end up on the street? Will I, horror of horrors, move back to Sweden, or some random Eastern European country? By this time next year, is it conceivable that I'll be posting from Estonia? Bosnia? Lithuania? Oh, my God--could next year find me languishing in the arse-end of Scotland? What a terrifying adventure!)

In the meantime, I've got a few things to sell:

1) Three entwined rats carved from a tagua nut;
2) A genuine rat skeleton in a cheesy plastic case, in passable condition;
3) A tiny silver opium weight with a rat on top;
4) A small porcelain urn, containing a dead rat in ash and bonechip form;
5) Two diamond rings of mediocre quality; one with two rows of tiny, sparkling diamonds, and one with three little diamonds in a row; also, a pair of diamond earrings (worn), and a diamond necklace with a broken chain;
6) Two winter coats, one red, the other black. One's lambswool, the other's also wool, although I'm not sure what sort. Both have been worn, but are in good condition, and would suit a woman of small stature;
7) Various jackets, also in good condition: a red pleather one, a red leather one that needs dry-cleaning (which I can't afford), a grey pouffy one with minor fraying on the ends of the sleeves, a red satin-looking one which might suit an SCA weirdo*, and a light mid-calf length summer coat, vaguely reminiscent of The Matrix, in black;
8) A Canon hi-8 video camera with a tape still in it, bought in 2001;
9) An ATI TV-Wonder video adapter card, suited to PCI ports;
10) Me, for the bargain rate of $1,000 per night. (I have, after all, aged somewhat.) Just kidding. No, really, just kidding. I have aged, that is, but I'm not for sale. Not yet, any road. I'll be sure to write it up if and when I am, so all those perverts out there can pop in and see me.

(End ludicrous interlude!)

Back to business, though. I can sell a few things, if anyone wants them. (It's funny--one never realizes how little one has, till one tries to sell it. Man, I couldn't even get together a decent garage sale with this lot!) Next up, since I'm losing my hobo flat anyway, I might as well find somewhere cheaper.

Oh! Funnily enough, my old flat came available today, the one on the ninth floor of this building. There was a flyer about it pushed under my door. I rang to find out what they were asking, but, unbelievably enough, they were trying to hawk a ninth-floor suite for a hundred dollars more than one on the nineteenth floor. I laughed raucously and hung up. Pity, that--it'd have been nice to move back into the original Rat's Nest. I wonder if you can still see the pastejob where I kicked a hole in the wall with my big clumsy foot? Alas, I'll never know.

Immediate concerns: I only have enough food for another week or two, if I stretch it out carefully. I can feed Stella a little longer, since I bought extra oatmeal and Rice-A-Roni last time I ordered from Stong's, but she ought to have fresh fruit and vegetables. If I can sell some of my useless junk for cash, I'll be able to spend it before the Royal Bank can get its hands on any. Anything I stick in my bank account, until such time as my debts are paid off, will be snatched forthwith.

I'll try and sell it locally, that's what I'll do. I must know someone who needs a lot of rubbish, or maybe several folks who all need one piece of rubbish, or even someone who knows someone in the rubbish market. I could even place an ad in the Buy and Sell. All is not lost!

That cable subscription, too, why do I even have that? I only ever listen to the TV. I might as well use my clock-radio.

Oh, what a pain--my heartburn is back. I'm going to blame the hydro bill, even though it's my own damn fault for working through dinner again. I'd better stop obsessing over my finances and eat something, already. I still have that pinchy under-rib feeling. It'd better not mean gallstones--it'd just better not! Oh, I'd just go mad! (One might argue that I'm long gone, already, but to that, I say "Pish-tosh" and "Sod off" and all that sort of thing.

...and I do believe I'll take that as my cue to sod off, myself. Dinner time. Dinner time at five-thirty in the morning. What a life!

* "Weirdo", here, is used in the least perjorative sense possible.