Here I am 16 years later. Sitting alone in a rented room. With a job in customer service which doesn’t pay enough. I am older, but nothing else has changed.
My finances are just as shoddy as they have been for years. I have no real savings to account for my life. No amount of money, no real items of value. Not even any close friendships. What have I done for 16 years, but tread water.
Today my car broke down and it makes me feel so helpless. It means more of a cost on my credit cards. A couple years ago I thought I could start to make progress. But now I am further in debt than ever. I hate having to work to pay debt. There is a part of myself which would love to drop it all and hit the road.
But I know my problems will be waiting for me when I stop. Only they will be worse for not having been tended during my absence. Why can’t I win the lotto and just pay off my debt. Oh yeah, I never play the lotto.
It isn’t the car problems. It is my life problems. As much as I like working at Walmart. I still think about quitting. It wouldn’t be easy. Most of all without another job which could support me. Even if I had to pick up and move. But moving itself is another cost. And I could afford to take the leap if I had confidence of where I would land.
There are many people I could see myself with right now. But most of all I see myself alone. And I am. In a deep way I feel like I am losing my ability to relate to people in a meaningful connection. For too long all my relationships have been perfectly surface images.
It is a down day for me for sure. But I have been feeling restless for a while now. I want this job to take me somewhere, I want to go somewhere. Or I want to go somewhere. Washington and Oregon hasn’t turned out to be the home I imagined it might be when I moved here. Maybe Salida. Maybe Arkansas. Maybe Utopia.
This morning before the car wouldn’t start I read an article about New York City. And it made me want to go back. I miss the subways. I miss Times Square. I miss the city in a way I don’t miss many places. The Turtle Pond. The Castle. The Williamsburg Bridge. And my car not starting could have been a sign. Go back to where you don’t need your car. But how would I live in the city. Where would I work? How would I pay rent? Would I be any better off at the end of the day?
Or would I still be me, with the same problems, in a different show.`
Maybe I should be brave and do something real. But at the same time I know I have many real things holding me down. And one persons act of bravery is another person’s act of stupidity. Take the Darwin Awards. Are they wrecklessly insane? or wrecklessly courageous?
Does it matter in the end if the results are the same? And the results of poor planning are rarely an improvement. At least they have not been so far for myself.
And I pick up and move to Tuscon, Arizona. The sunny desert. Except when it isn’t and it is cold. And I have no friends there, even less than here. And I start from the ground and I think life will be better. But then like moving here from Texas. Like when I moved to Texas from Nebraska. Or from Colorado to Nebraska. Life is the same. The problems are the same.
At least here I have a little more hope I can keep building towards a future where I won’t be so desperate. So broke. So alone. You can’t build anything when you are moving all the time. And I have been moving too much already. I want to rest. I want to sleep. I want to stop. I want to die.
How do you believe the world will end? In fire or ice? Will our universe start to collapse into a new big bang? Or extend itself too far, and all it’s energy be diluted. The universe frozen to death.
And maybe the lotto wouldn’t fix my problems. What would I really choose to do today if I had no debts from yesterday. It is almost too scary to think about, to ask. I would be free. Would I know what to do with so much freedom? Would I remain like an elephant in my chains? Would it make me feel any better about myself and my life. And how much longer until I was in debt again?
Write people tell me. You’re a great writer. I don’t care. I may be a good writer, but I am not Stephen King. I am not J.D. Robb. Not even J.K. Rowling. There is a difference between writing things people like to read and things people will pay money to read. And who pays money for books anymore?
I don’t doubt my skill. I doubt the world cares about my skill enough for them to value me and my life. And it isn’t the world’s job to care about me. It isn’t my friends or family’s job to care for me or about me. We are all doing out best afterall. And I am not the only one with problems. Not the only one broken by this life. Not the only one alone in this world. Not the only one.
Why have I created this world for myself? What could I be hoping to learn? And why have I not learned it yet. It is like the email I keep in my inbox for coding lessons. I want to learn SQL and make a database to create my own computer flash cards. But I also want to learn Spanish, and French. I would like to learn English better too.
Okay, I give up for today. It is time for bed. Maybe tomorrow will feel like a better day.