This job is a nail in my ass

So anyways after picking my Girl up at a crack house, after having realized that the mountain of blankets on the filthy floor had people in it, after going to the foster home and packing up her stuff and witnessing foster mom tell her to "focus on her goals" and, subtextually, "ignore my abandonment of you," I was carrying her crap to my recently unfrozen car and fell down the front steps on to a nail, from what I can reconstruct. My favorite jeans, magic look-at-my-fine-ass pants, torn a ragged 10 inches right off me, and I spend the next two hours moving her into the group home with my backside out and wounded. Thankfully I had a long coat. Sadly, she was moving into a group home, moving away from any sense of family, drifting more and more into loneliness. Let's not say I failed her, because I didn't, but let's just say: thankfully I was offered another job. The tender convergence of my pain and their pain is becoming much too much to bear.

Of course, part of me wants forgiveness for the choices I'm making; who takes an easier job that pays more money? Who decides not to be in their mom's intervention? Who am I without all the abject self-sacrifice and attendant sense of righteousness and superiority?

Here's what I'm thinking, right now. The strength I've gained from self-laceration--and I'm not kidding, I really have--I now want to use for greater healing, straighter bangs, and debt re-payment. My magical unicorn powers will become even more magic. I will spin dreams from my single horn.