Two months ago my life was everything I thought it was supposed to be. I had found my dream job as the editor of a feminist publication. I was living happily in a beautiful art deco house-sized apartment in the inner city with my two children and dogs, and planning on a glowing future.
One month ago, in the space of a week, I lost everything. The feminist publication was sold, my job was made redundant, my beautiful apartment was too expensive, and I couldn’t find another one. While landlords are happy giving leases to single women with prestigious employment, they’re not so keen on unemployed single mothers with teenagers and dogs. My debts, while not crushing, were more than I could pay with what little was left, and no-one even answered the job applications I sent out. Desperation has an unmistakable smell.
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