I AM EMPOWERED, pt.20: The Twitter-based YEAR ONE prose dealie continues! (Patreon)

Note: You can check out I Am Empowered's previous installment here.

And now, back to Emp's first-person narration in (old) Twitter-based 140-character format, taking place roughly around the beginning of Empowered vol.1. 

We've hit the point in this loose jumble of episodes that no remaining chapter is complete; all the remaining material from this abortive project is a series of fragmentary sketches that wheeze to a halt in an inconclusive manner. 

This next tale, incomplete though it might be, relates Emp's real-world financial woes to a battle with a trio of (typically doofy) bad guys, the "Cash Crime Cartel."

STRAIGHT CASH, SUPERHOMEY (part 3 of 3)

I'm thinking that, of course, A Real Superheroine would never, ever entertain the idea of snagging any stolen money from a foiled robbery.

Then again: I'm counter-thinking that A Real Superheroine would never, ever be as deeply, pathetically, and hopelessly in debt as I am. 

For at least six months now, I've barely made the minimum monthly payment on all my credit cards—and those are very minimal payments indeed.

Ah, but my credit-card debt is a relatively minor threat, equivalent in supervillain terms to a lowly C-list pest like, say, Pink Elephant.

Far bigger and much scarier a menace? The looming terror of my student loans, analogous to an A-list superdupervillain like Deathmonger.

The grim total of my student debtload? A jawdroppy $55,000, looming in my fevered nightmares as the terrifying supervillain Double Nickels.

Pathetically enough, I’ve grown to hate and fear the number 55 itself, flinching every time I happen to stumble across it in real life.

(I never even consider taking the most advantageous bus line across town to the Homeycrib, just ’cause its route number happens to be 55.)

Now, my Bachelor’s Degree in Suprahuman Studies really ’n’ truly has gifted me with invaluable awareness and understanding of cape culture.

And unlike many—or most—academic endeavors, my hard-won superhero-sociology savvy often translates into practical, real-world applications.

Sometimes, though, I frownily grimthink that I might have made just as good—or bad—a superhero without the benefit of a college degree.

I wouldn’t have garnered all the keen cape insights of a Suprahuman Studies education, but I also wouldn’t have garnered $55,000 in debt.

I could never be criminal-ish enough—or ballsy enough—to, um, "requisition" an amount of money that would make a real dent in my debtload.

I could, howeva, easily snag a Benjamin or two, just so I could briefly paper over the yawning abyss of Failing At Being A Grown-Up.

I’m no fashionista, but owning an article of clothing only a year or two out of style—as opposed to 4 or 5—would be a nice change of pace.

Despite being an (ahem) Adult Woman, I’m still shamefully limping along with a crappy, piecemeal wardrobe that mainly dates back to college.

And my college years were rife with failed experiments, short-lived enthusiasms and outright blunders—many of which still infest my closet.

(Yes, it pains me to admit, one or two “flirty” tops that Cassidy foisted off on Browbeaten Freshman Me still lurk in the closet’s depths.)

Haunting thrift stores with little cash but boundless hope, as a Dewy-Eyed, Fashion-Experimenting Sophomore in College Never-Neverland? Fun.

Haunting thrift stores with just as little cash and less hope, as a Grown-Ass, Post-Grad, Mature Ladyperson out in The Real World? Less fun.

Nowadays, I walk by store fronts with my gaze downturned, as if I’m averting my eyes during a horror movie. DON'T LOOK DON'T LOOK DON’T LOOK

I try to be good, to be frugal, to thriftily stick to a prudent budget. Going out: OUT. Eating out: OUT. Any kind of fiscal acting-out: OUT.

I do my best to be all penny-pinching and spartan—though, side note, no one’s likely to mistake my pudgy belly for a Spartan’s sculpted abs.

As you might well guess from my ballooning credit-card balance, howevs, I all too frequently stray from the budgetary straight and narrow.

Just like I struggle to eat healthy and responsibly and supersuit-conscious, then OOPS, slip up and ravenously tube-binge on cookie dough—

—I pull the same idiot stunts with money, lurching from weeks of sober self-denial into sudden, gleefully uncontrolled credit-card binges. 

Petulant IDGAF(I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck)ism overwhelms me, and I unthinkingly splurge on purchases that’ll make me feel better for a few minutes.

At my very lowest ebbs, I peevishly use my own status as a superhero to justify each selfish, shortsighted lapse into irresponsibility.

I whine sulkily to myself, “I save lives EVERY DAY! Okay, every day-ISH! Surely I deserve a new pair of ballet flats now and then, don’t I?”

Close-up on my poutiest pouty face. “I risk my life, like, all the time! I’ve EARNED this!” Cue the heinous montage of credit-card swipes.

Yeahp, it’s amazing just how many material indulgences an unselfish, totally greed-free, monk-like Hero Martyr like myself seems to require.

Awesomely Selfless Heroine deserves a little—or a Venti, or a Trenta—Starbucks every now and then, doesn’t she? Of course she does! (SWIPE!)

Darn it, cooking is SO hard for an exhausted hero like me. Isn’t Brave Li’l Emp entitled to some Thai takeout every now and then? (SWIPE!) 

After a bad day on the job, can’t a broody badass cheer herself up just a bit with the comfort media of a not-THAT-expensive DVD? (SWIPE!)

PURPLE PALADIN 5: INFERNO IN SAN ANTONIO isn’t just a $60 videogame, it’s a sandbox—a “capebox”—for practicing new combat tactics! (SWIPE!)

An action-ish heroine—whose work obliges her to be in decent shape—surely merits a membership at a non-skeevy gym, doesn’t she? (SWIPE!) 

A plucky but insecure workout warrior deserves some up-to-date, embarrassment-free gymwear for her new membership, doesn’t she? (SWIPE!)

And so it goes ad nauseum, Spendthrift Grasshopper Me wrestling Prudent, Budget-Minded Ant Me in a never-ending battle for Visa® access.

Over and over again, I fleetingly assuage my gnawing financial anxiety and oppressive sense of failure with one small indulgence at a time—

—each of which happies me up only briefly before sinking me incrementally deeper in debt and leaving me to loathe my own irresponsibility.

Even my focus on credit-card debt is a luxury of sorts, as that’s infinitely preferable to thinking about my horrific student-loan debtload.

Bad as they might be, my card balances could—in theory, at least—be whittled down by positive developments in my dismal employment status.

The looming, monstrous redwood of my Double Nickels student debt seems entirely whittle-proof by anything short of a winning lottery ticket.

So, yay, you get the picture: Struggling Ladycape Is Struggling, Atlas-like, under the fiscal and psychological weight of crushing debt.

Now, back to the real-world picture of me in the Cash Money Clique’s HQ, struggling with the intensifying urge to grab me a li’l Hero Bonus.

I’m ambling in anxious circles across the bill-blanketed floor, kicking up Jacksons and Grants and Franklins as I fretfully pace to and fro.

I glance over at the sprawled forms of the Clique, but none of them are yet awake to guilt me out of a lapse into super-sticky-fingeredness.

As the money’s presence inflates my level of self-indulgent greed, my level of self-loathing over my own weakness increases proportionately.

Not only would no Real Superheroine ever help herself to stolen loot, no Real Superheroine would waste any time agonizing over the decision.

With startling vividness, I imagine my struggle being witnessed by Sistah Spooky, arms crossed, nodding with a “just like I thought” smirk.

Behind her, Spooky’s lady henchcapes are obediently nodding in unison, nervous beta females rushing to mirror their alpha’s every move.

Yummy Mummy is shrugging as she nods, an evocative gesture that tells me, “Way to give Spooky another opportunity to hate on you, dumbass.”

More painfully, I visualize Capitan Rivet shaking his steely head, his expressionless faceplate somehow still conveying regret and dismay. 

Then I visualize Daddy standing next to him, so my father figure and actual father are woefully shaking their heads in metronomic stereo.

<NOTE: Enjoy a few incomplete lines/ tweets in progress, Patrons!>

All this scoldingly negative imagery is useless before my own 

I’ll never know for certain, though

A Benjamin-slick of bills underfoot suddenly gives way and slides out from beneath me, sends me tumbling in a swirl of churned-up cash.

I doofily pratfall. 

<NOTE: Incomplete section ahoy! When I was writing this project, I'd skip back and forth to find segments I felt inspired to flesh out. >

Who needs mere riches, when I’m gifted with the rich satisfaction inherent to the sight of a defeated bad guy glaring helplessly up at me?

Then I hear the dopplering drone of the Homeycar approaching, and a warm rush of relief washes over me. Too late for greedy grabbiness, now!

What I fail to notice until I trudge home, peel off the supersuit, and step into the shower: A lone $100 bill is stuck in my hair.

Maybe it's just my guilt-ridden imagination, but Benjamin Franklin sure seems to smirk at me in an irritatingly smug and judgmental fashion.

<End of chapter>

PATREON KEYWORD-FLAGGING UPDATE: As I mentioned last week, the insertion of certain keywords in Patreon-post text automatically triggers a warning dialog box as you're typing up said post. Wellp, some word or phrase in today's post caused Patreon to warn me, "It looks like you're promoting a raffle, which is outside our Benefit Guidelines."  For the record, let me clearly state that neither fictional Emp nor real-life me are promoting a g-d raffle in this g-d post.

NEXT TIME ON I AM EMPOWERED: We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, folks, as the remaining work-in-progress chapters are even more fragmentary and incomplete. Next time, I'll likely post a seriously incomplete episode addressing the fabled "Unwritten Rules" of the Empverse in more detail than I cared to get into with the actual comic.

Howeva, I'm gonna take a few weeks off from posting I Am Empowered, as I'm speculating that regularly putting up wholly text-based pieces like this might be turning folks off. (I lost at least a dozen Patrons at the end of last month, which was an unpleasant "personal worst" record for this up-and-down Patreon.) In fact, I'll likely do a post querying you fine folks as to what the hell content you would like to see here, as I'm about to have a lot less time to spend on this Patreon as Empowered vol.12's fabled restart approaches, and having a better idea of what would provide the most bang for my scant-worktime buck would be helpful.

TOMORROW ON THIS HERE PATREON: No idea, to be perfectly frank! Might try something new this time, or just scrape up a hasty Vintage Con Sketches post based on whatever the hell's left in my hard drive's CON SKETCHES folder.