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My first shift at Lampron's is on Saturday, so I'm moving to Mom's Friday. This also means that my Internet access should continue to be fairly regular. I hope. Though I'm still not sure where they're putting me, since they gave my room to my little stepsister after I moved out last fall. I mean, fair enough, how were they to know that my little failure self would have to come back?
I'm not looking for sympathy here and I'm not trying to make with the showoffy melodrama. And heaven only knows why I feel the need to make this disclaimer, since I am the only person I know who never vents on her journal and remains eternally upbeat, goofy, and fangirly on it. And I certainly don't think that everyone I know is showoffy and meoldramatic! I just have very exacting double standards for how I'm allowed to behave versus how other people should behave. I'm sure my next entry will be back to my usual fangirl fluff, and I don't mind that one bit because that's what I like to use this journal for, but right now I just need to complain a little.
I am twenty-one years old and I've been bouncing back and forth between parents' homes since I was eighteen. I didn't graduate till twenty, and only then because I chose to go back for my diploma. While I'm glad I did that, because I would have regretted not graduating for the rest of my life, I also feel that, developmentally and emotionally, it was a big mistake. I repeated my senior year and half of my junior: In other words, I spent a year and a half that I could have used to become an adult delaying that change and still being a high school kid. I got a lot of people telling me how brave I was to go back, especially near graduation, and it was nice and made feel good, but - well, it's not courage if you're not afraid, and I wasn't afraid to go back, I was afraid to go into the real world. I repeat, I'm glad I got my diploma, and I didn't consciously choose to avoid growing up, but that's what happened, so now I feel more like a coward than anything else.
So a few months ago, I decided that I was sick of living with my dad and sick of hiding from the responsibilities that everyone has to face someday. To that effect, I further decided that I was going to stay with a friend in Portland, get a job out there, and look for a place to live in the city where I can try that independence thing. (It has to be in a city, since I don't drive and so need public transportation.)
I needed to save money for that reason, and so even got a second job. Then, for reasons I've gone into, I had to quit both jobs. Which is one of the few things I've done in the past few years that carries no regret for me. Not least since I somehow wasn't making enough money to save even with the second job.
So for the past two months, I've been searching for a job in Portland, which is not easy when I live twenty minutes away and don't have my own transportation. It's proven fruitless, and meanwhile I have a deadline sneaking up on me for when I have to get out of here so my dad's soon-to-be roommate can have my room. So, I was forced to resort to accepting my mother's invitation, asking for my old job at Lampron's back, and going up there for the summer.
Let me hasten to say that this is not entirely a bad thing. First, I'll be working, which is good, because I'll be able to save much-needed money. Also, I'll get to see the family I have up there every day, which is wonderful. And on a strictly shallow note, they also have airconditioning.
The reason I'm so down about this isn't just the expected issues - that they live way out in the middle of nowhere (my mom drives half an hour just to go grocery shopping); that I am foisting myself and the various inconveniences that come with me upon them yet again; that I am twenty-one, not in college, and still living with my goddamn parents.
It's that, when I finally decide to get serious, set reasonable goals for myself and follow them, and I mean it, everything goes wrong and I can't. I'm set back for at least three months, and that's assuming that I'm still welcome to move in my friend and her dad come fall.
Yeah, I know. "Bitch bitch, whine whine, she can't get a job for two lousy months, she has parents who are willing to give her a home long after their obligation to her is over, and she's complaining already. Just wait'll she has real problems, she'll fold like a house of cards in a hurricane." Yeah, I know that. Believe me, I know that. That's part of the problem, really.
I know it's not that much of a setback, and that there are many ways in which I am very lucky. That's what I usually tell myself: "If _______ is my biggest problem, then life must be pretty good!" That may sound silly, but it does help.
But there just has to come a point where I feel allowed to complain, just a little. Because, guys, I withhold everything all the time and I am seven kinds of fucked up for it. I have never been able to express myself easily, and if I actually had to look at any of you, at any point during or after you read this, it would never ever get written.
So here's the point I'm trying to get to: I know I changed the entire course of my life three years ago when I did not graduate. It's not like I was just lazy: I was badly depressed at the time and schoolwork mattered not at all, so I'm not beating myself up about it. I just feel like I screwed up, and I ruined my chance to start off properly, and this little setback just seems like proof positive of that. To use the rather overwrought baseball metaphor I tried on Betsey the other day, I just feel like I'm leaving the bases loaded. Again. And in this game, there's no such thing as overtime and we all lose, so you have to play your nine innings as well as you bloody can.
I highly doubt I'll do this again for a while. I don't like writing about my problems in my journal. Yes, venting online helps other people. I envy them because when I do it, it makes me feel fucked up and sad for the rest of the day. I guess that's because I have to think about stuff closely before I can write it, and I can't always let my writing go when I'm done with it.
That's all. If you read this, thank you for listening and I love you.
I'm not looking for sympathy here and I'm not trying to make with the showoffy melodrama. And heaven only knows why I feel the need to make this disclaimer, since I am the only person I know who never vents on her journal and remains eternally upbeat, goofy, and fangirly on it. And I certainly don't think that everyone I know is showoffy and meoldramatic! I just have very exacting double standards for how I'm allowed to behave versus how other people should behave. I'm sure my next entry will be back to my usual fangirl fluff, and I don't mind that one bit because that's what I like to use this journal for, but right now I just need to complain a little.
I am twenty-one years old and I've been bouncing back and forth between parents' homes since I was eighteen. I didn't graduate till twenty, and only then because I chose to go back for my diploma. While I'm glad I did that, because I would have regretted not graduating for the rest of my life, I also feel that, developmentally and emotionally, it was a big mistake. I repeated my senior year and half of my junior: In other words, I spent a year and a half that I could have used to become an adult delaying that change and still being a high school kid. I got a lot of people telling me how brave I was to go back, especially near graduation, and it was nice and made feel good, but - well, it's not courage if you're not afraid, and I wasn't afraid to go back, I was afraid to go into the real world. I repeat, I'm glad I got my diploma, and I didn't consciously choose to avoid growing up, but that's what happened, so now I feel more like a coward than anything else.
So a few months ago, I decided that I was sick of living with my dad and sick of hiding from the responsibilities that everyone has to face someday. To that effect, I further decided that I was going to stay with a friend in Portland, get a job out there, and look for a place to live in the city where I can try that independence thing. (It has to be in a city, since I don't drive and so need public transportation.)
I needed to save money for that reason, and so even got a second job. Then, for reasons I've gone into, I had to quit both jobs. Which is one of the few things I've done in the past few years that carries no regret for me. Not least since I somehow wasn't making enough money to save even with the second job.
So for the past two months, I've been searching for a job in Portland, which is not easy when I live twenty minutes away and don't have my own transportation. It's proven fruitless, and meanwhile I have a deadline sneaking up on me for when I have to get out of here so my dad's soon-to-be roommate can have my room. So, I was forced to resort to accepting my mother's invitation, asking for my old job at Lampron's back, and going up there for the summer.
Let me hasten to say that this is not entirely a bad thing. First, I'll be working, which is good, because I'll be able to save much-needed money. Also, I'll get to see the family I have up there every day, which is wonderful. And on a strictly shallow note, they also have airconditioning.
The reason I'm so down about this isn't just the expected issues - that they live way out in the middle of nowhere (my mom drives half an hour just to go grocery shopping); that I am foisting myself and the various inconveniences that come with me upon them yet again; that I am twenty-one, not in college, and still living with my goddamn parents.
It's that, when I finally decide to get serious, set reasonable goals for myself and follow them, and I mean it, everything goes wrong and I can't. I'm set back for at least three months, and that's assuming that I'm still welcome to move in my friend and her dad come fall.
Yeah, I know. "Bitch bitch, whine whine, she can't get a job for two lousy months, she has parents who are willing to give her a home long after their obligation to her is over, and she's complaining already. Just wait'll she has real problems, she'll fold like a house of cards in a hurricane." Yeah, I know that. Believe me, I know that. That's part of the problem, really.
I know it's not that much of a setback, and that there are many ways in which I am very lucky. That's what I usually tell myself: "If _______ is my biggest problem, then life must be pretty good!" That may sound silly, but it does help.
But there just has to come a point where I feel allowed to complain, just a little. Because, guys, I withhold everything all the time and I am seven kinds of fucked up for it. I have never been able to express myself easily, and if I actually had to look at any of you, at any point during or after you read this, it would never ever get written.
So here's the point I'm trying to get to: I know I changed the entire course of my life three years ago when I did not graduate. It's not like I was just lazy: I was badly depressed at the time and schoolwork mattered not at all, so I'm not beating myself up about it. I just feel like I screwed up, and I ruined my chance to start off properly, and this little setback just seems like proof positive of that. To use the rather overwrought baseball metaphor I tried on Betsey the other day, I just feel like I'm leaving the bases loaded. Again. And in this game, there's no such thing as overtime and we all lose, so you have to play your nine innings as well as you bloody can.
I highly doubt I'll do this again for a while. I don't like writing about my problems in my journal. Yes, venting online helps other people. I envy them because when I do it, it makes me feel fucked up and sad for the rest of the day. I guess that's because I have to think about stuff closely before I can write it, and I can't always let my writing go when I'm done with it.
That's all. If you read this, thank you for listening and I love you.