‘If we can keep ourselves a half a world away, we’ll be OK’
“No one said we were victims, honey
No one said we had to keep the things we get
There aint no regrets.”— Rob Thomas, “Cradlesong”
I feel like I want to write, but my head is as empty as my busted-up little heart right now.
I keep rethinking things I have in motion, from the dream apartment to, well, everything. Maybe it’s money. Maybe it’s that I know the OEH will never get a goddamned job and now I’ll be paying multiple rents for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s just that I don’t really care about anything anymore.
The rational side of me reminds me that this life is still mine. And that everything will change the moment I’m in my new place by myself. Well, maybe nothing will change but the Zip code, at least initially, but I’m hoping that other great things will follow.
As the song says, “No one said we have to keep the things we get.”
I’m giving it back. Housing my mother in my own abode. Hating my sub-par apartments so that I could afford to keep her. I wish I could give back the dent to my credit that I’m taking because I can’t pay her bills right now (she has my name on one of her cards). My apartment full of memories of my Maddie. My sadness. My stress. My impatience. My loneliness.
The universe has given me many good things. I’ve also taken on so many heavy things. And I looked at the exchange policy and it’s good for a lifetime. So, take my tears and scars and baggage back. I don’t want it anymore.
I look at it this way: What’s the worst that can happen, making the changes I so desperately crave and even need? The worst DID happen. Maybe I’m being overdramatic about losing my beloved cat, but shit. I had to give back the best gift a girl could have wished for. I need something in return.
I asked the OEH before I left for work, as she asked me if I had any cash on me (I don’t. Ever), to come up with 10 ways she could make $5. The answer when I came home from work was of course “blow jobs.”
I don’t give a fuck WHAT she does; I just want her to do something to earn a buck. Granted, the government gets half, but we’ll work on “how to earn $10” as our next lesson.
But I’ve got to give her back, too, to save me. Even if that involves a heaping amount of money to get my space. I’ll try it for a year. My fondest wish is that it won’t TAKE another year (that’d be three, if you’re keeping score at home) for her to get a job. I notice I can tolerate her so much better now that my new apartment is in my hands, just waiting for ME AND ME ALONE.
I’m tired of worrying that I’m being selfish. I need my strength to fight another day. At the rate I’m going, I don’t know how many more good days are left in me. So, whatever I have left, I’ve got to do my damndest to enjoy it.