Yo-yo

No. Not like a rapper. Like a child's plaything. This is what I am. What I feel like. I hate to be so whiny, but christ, could my mind make up its mind at some point? I feel like I'm at the whim of a small, whiny child who wants to simultaneously bring me joy and throw me down a flight of stairs. Today I feel okay. Yesterday I thought I was going to fall apart at every moment. The day before that I not only felt like I was going to fall apart at any moment, but did, on more than one occasion.
I would just like to hit on a moment of clarity that actually sticks with me. I would like to make up my mind about something and maintain it. Not find that twenty minutes later I am frustrated about the same thing that I talked myself out of being angry about only minutes before. I would like to maintain my resolve, I guess is what I'm saying.
I am angry. I am sad. I feel disillusioned. Mostly with myself. I'm disappointed in myself. I feel naive about my expectations. I'm no longer sure of anything. I'm scared. I'm lonely. I was excited about my new apartment, but now I feel overwhelmed by fear and loathing (but not in Las Vegas).
Make a decision, brain! I beg you! Make a decision and actually stick with it. Maybe this is all part of the process. Maybe I'm being impatient. I am sort of impatient.
Fine. I will wait it out. I will see if this is going anywhere good. I will hope that this is all a part of getting me to where I want to be.

I Can't Stop Smiling

I put a deposit down on an apartment. Like 25 minutes ago. I will be a resident of the West Side in roughly three weeks (apologies to those of you trying to recruit me to the E. Side, but I know that you understand). It's off of Murphy Road. It's older. It's an upstairs, studio apartment. It's not very big, but it will be big enough for me and my boy. As long as there are no roaches, I will be happy. The rent isn't much more than I pay now, plus I figure that since water and electric are included, I'll actually be saving money at this place. Plus it's super close to work. I'm so excited. I feel good about this.
I will be working some major overtime to make up for the overlap in rent, but I really don't care. It will be worth it. It has wood paneling. I don't care. It will be worth it. I'm so excited. I am going to go baby-sit now, but I had to share.
Well... hello, Nashville.*

*Please read this in your campiest Kim Cattrall SATC voice.

Conversation With A Roach

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? You are dead! Why won't you die? Die! Die! Die! I hate you! You are dead! You are in pieces right now, how are you still trying to get away from me?!? Mother-effer..."

~rather angry one-sided conversation with a very resilient roach that I was beating with a broom at the time. In my bedroom.

My family isn't punishing me for breaking up with Tony. Nor are my friends, or his friends, or his family. He's not even punishing me. Everyone's been surprisingly supportive, actually. But, oh, the roaches are most definitely in his camp. And they are exacting a revenge that couldn't have been better planned to torment me.

Narcolepsy

"But I'm not tired. I'm not tired. I'm not tired. I just sleep."

This is where I currently find myself. I'm not tired. I'm just tired of things. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of feeling and thinking and enduring. Things that just seem to be on loop. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of talking. I'm tired of questioning who I am and what I want and how to get it. I want to curl up into a tiny space. I want to turn my brain off. I want to wake up when it's all over. I don't want to deal with these things that I feel. I don't want to go to work every day and look around me and push through another 8 hours feeling the hopelessness and helplessness that I feel. I don't want to go home and walk my dog, and make my dinner, and find a book to read until I can finally go to bed and shut it all out for another 8 hours until I start all over again.

I want to go to sleep. And I want to wake up once the hard part is over. I know that this is impossible. I know that I can't get to where I want to be without dealing with all of this shit. The messy shit. The hard part. I know that. Nonetheless. I'm so tired of it all.

But I'm not tired. I just want to sleep. Does the butterfly feel any pain during metamorphosis? Am I even going to end up being the person that I want to be? Is all of this pain even going to be worth it?

Ba dum bum

I checked out an apartment today. It is literally two blocks from my place of business. Kind of on the high end of my price range at $675, but could be worth it based on location alone. A little uncertain about safety. I know that moving into the city entails more crime and more money for less, so I just wanted to get out there and start seeing what I can get for what I can afford. The one I saw today is definitely on my radar.
I've decided other than stomping the roaches out as they appear, the only other option I have that's going to make me feel better is to start the process of getting the H up out of there.
So. If any of you few trusty readers (literally, I think there's one of you that doesn't work with me and isn't T's mom) knows of apartments/rentals in the $600 range, let me know. I'm looking to move by October 1, but sooner if I can wriggle out of my lease with constant complaints about the constant flow of roaches that are now making their way through my apartment to their untimely deaths.

Conversation In A Breezeway

"They got some king-size roaches around here."

"Yeah, I know. They even hang out in my apartment!"

Guess which was me? And which was yet another odd lady that lives upstairs? Some things change, some things don't. The roaches are after me. In abundance. And I still hate them.

Life Is Hard

Regardless of where your troubles fall on the spectrum of standard to tragic, from mundane to horrific, life is hard. We only get what we're handed. I sometimes feel ridiculous being so upset about the things that have happened to me, both now and in the past, when I compare them to the things that people I know have been through. I feel stupid crying about my love lost, my fear of being alone, my resentment of my mother. I get annoyed with myself for succumbing to the pain of heartbreak and the insecurity of not having many friends. I remind myself how much worse it could be. I don't live in a war-torn country. I haven't been abused or discriminated against. I have a job. I have a place to live. I have a dog. I have the things that I need to live. My problems are pretty cushy problems to have. I get embarrassed when I think about going to a therapist and complaining about these very middle class issues.
But.
I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love right now. The author, Liz Gilbert, actually addresses exactly this issue fairly early in the book. She describes a conversation with a therapist friend who has signed up to work with refugees. The therapist friend explains to her that even with all of things that these people have seen and experienced, when she finally meets with them, they all want to talk about their love lives. Their broken hearts.
And so. I guess that is the common thread among us. We are all like this. Life is hard. Love is hard. Loving someone is hard. It doesn't always work out the way that you thought it would.
I try to remind myself of this. I'm also trying to maintain some clarity and self-awareness as I go through this time in my life, so that I don't lose sight of the fact that I've still got it okay, even if my whole life is going a different way than I'd anticipated.
Additionally, so this won't seem so cryptic, my Tony and I are no more. Six years is a long time, and I feel like I'm starting my life all over again. So. Here we go.