May to November. Nearly a full six months of total writing solitude. NO more fake and empty promises I might add.
I’ve been living the life of what some might call, the system, the unfortunate, the poor. Had I known such unfortunate circumstances could become one individual, I would’ve caught the next plane out of such place. Instead, like many roads less traveled, I’ve wandered into a place I’m hoping has a motto of “the only way is up”. In comparison, two jobs turned into a surprising month of limitless pajama days and one promising apartment turned into a money witch hunt.
Naturally, I’ve hired an accountant to look into the matter and all Mr. Merlot and Dr. Champagne had to say was that I have found myself in a deep pile of uh-oh. I’ve found that it’s very easy to hate laundry and never do it. Living out of a basket of unfolded clothes is much easier. Half walls can’t serve a purpose for decorations, therefore they’ve become a temporary closet for all interview belongings. Dust may settle and never be swept from it’s surface. One cat may eat all the crumbs as she wishes since food tends to be scarce in these parts. And the once dreaded pasta, bread, and potatoes have all now made homes in the belly of the poor girl who knows better. Eating something of color within the shades of green are an expensive delicacy these days.
Social media is an after thought and all things relationship wise have ceased to exist beyond the number of fingers I have on one hand. Now I’m realizing why people created books, television, plays, and music. Especially wine. Vicariously living through other sources of activity make the impossible, possible and the poor, rich. The only parties thrown involve pity instead of happy and lately, the only attendee has four legs and sleeps most of the time.
The concept of escape or espionage seem more and more real as the numbers in a bank account dwindle from three digits to one. How anyone has done this and seen the way through is remarkable, especially considering the gray circumstances. However, they may have made more compromises, more sacrifices, more more more than what I’m willing to let go of. More than one chooses to let go until pride and dignity feel chipped and worn. Until clothes with tattered edges and holes don’t appear trendy, they appear sad and forgotten. When decisions become based upon the hunger you’ve put off for hours, which then trumps the gas in your car. Visiting family is now on a needed basis instead of for gift bearing. Reaching out is no longer a hello, it’s a favor to ask and a shame to carry. Knocks on the door no longer carry the same weight in your step, they sound more like the people who need to fill their pockets too. It leads into wandering abandonment of any established justification reasoning as to why these fallen circumstances have fallen upon your shoulders and yours alone. The weight of them requires a doctor or help, places and people you feel are so out of touch with your moment in time.
There’s always a tomorrow. Let’s see where that takes us.