Mara Lattanzi

Between The Pages

The bandage was too tight on my arm. Why do they always make this bandage so tight? Good God, I can still feel the needle. I put a few quarters into the vending machine for a snack to make sure I wouldn't pass out. I had been donating plasma twice a week for the past six months. It was the only thing keeping me from starving. I had been through so many jobs over the past three years. All dead ends. I keep thinking a new job will make things better, but after a few months it becomes this place I hate, managed by people I hate, for pay that is never enough for the frustration and never-ending dread of being forced to trade my time for a few dull pennies. It's never enough! It's not worth it. So I quit over and over. I often think about how I might have done things differently. Maybe if I had made different decisions I wouldn't be unemployed, living with my sister, and having my plasma sucked out for money. I'm too old and fat to be a stripper.