Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I'm having a hard time getting it together after this last trip. First, there's the paperwork. And then, there's the time change. And the emails and phone calls and appointments and errands and cleaning and laundry and such. And then there's the fact I have to schedule trips for next month to make sure I have an income. And I keep waking up at odd hours unable to go back to sleep. Which means when I do wake up, I have no energy to exercise or write or do something about this overwhelming desire to make my life work as quickly as possible. Which is quite troubling. This is only my second day home, though. So maybe I'm just being hard on myself. But I'm less excited about putting on a bikini than I was sixteen days ago. Back before I left. When my exercise routine was in place. Even if my finances weren't. Now my body is all out of whack. Things hurt. And I feel crooked. Traveling does take a toll on you. Who knew? Perhaps the fun kind is a bit easier on the body and mind. Not that I didn't have fun. I did. I just had to work it in with work. Which was... well, work.

But. Work pays. Unfortunately, not enough to change things. Just enough to pay the bills I have. The out of pocket costs still make things uncomfortable. I still have to borrow money from friends to cover them until I get paid back from Boscia. This last three weeks of traveling will at least mean next month I'll be fine in terms of paying the bills and rent. But it doesn't get me any closer to anything I want. I'm not talking materialistic things. I'm talking the tangible things that make life worth living. Results. Love. A family of my own. That's what I woke up at 2am realizing. Actually, I woke up at 2am and started to cry. I'm not even sure why. I just started to cry. Maybe it's because I don't feel like a writer when I don't have the time or energy to write for three weeks. That I'm too tired to write much of anything now. That when I get back from trips, my life is the same. Stuck in the same place. Other than the fact my kitten has grown into a cat. And I missed it. I still don't have the things I want. And the thing is, the longer that remains the case, the more I'm starting to think that I never will. I don't even have the energy so much anymore to believe that miracles can happen. That things can change. Love can happen. That I can have a job I love. Get paid well. Own a home. Have a husband. Or at the very least, a child some day. My cousin's wife asked me if I thought about freezing my eggs. I've thought about lots of things that I can't afford to do. Even match.com costs money. Because I can't afford to feed myself let alone a child. So there's really no option of doing it by myself. And truthfully, that's not the way I want to do it anyway.

I am a little more settled into the fact that for better or worse, this is me. And this is my life. When I cry, it's a bit different than how it used to be. It's no longer, "what happened?" "how did I end up here?" Because I don't know. Really. There's no more "poor me." There is more acceptance that this is what life has given me. And I have no idea why. Because all things considered, I've been doing the best I could under the circumstances. I've been trying all along. To make things better. To change things. But shit. Sometimes it's just hard. And truthfully, there is nothing that I-- being who I am-- could have done any differently. I try to find answers. I try to be a good person. I try to explore options and I even sometimes ask for favors when it's appropriate. And keep asking and trying no matter how many times I get turned down. There are times I wanted to be rescued. By... anybody. I wanted magic. To make it all better. But none of that ever happened. No one ever looked at me and said, "I love you. I want you to be happy." So I have to try to say it to myself. And come to terms with the fact that not everyone hears that. I can look at people like the ex-convict who can turn his life around and get everything I ostensibly want and make it look effortless. But we're different people. With different values and styles and wants and needs. With different histories. And then there's the obvious. He's a man. And I'm a woman. A woman older than him. So maybe it hurts a little more because there's something inside me programmed to want it that try as I may to deny it. Exists.

I just learned a friend who always talks about being broke makes more in a day than I do in a week. When she talked about being broke, I used to empathize with her. I told myself that even someone who lives in a nice house with beautiful children and a good husband can have problems. And I still do believe they can. Although, it goes back to the thing about understanding. The fact is, very few people will or will want to. And no one wants to believe someone who's smart and is trying and has held good jobs and is in their circle, could be struggling so much. And. They're worried about their own lives. That's why when people ask you how you are, they want to hear "good" or "fine." So I'm going back to the lie. The good or fine. Which is often how I actually do feel when I travel because I like being out in the world. Having adventures. Even if some of them are in malls. And I also like meeting men. Even if some of them are creepy and put their hands places where they shouldn't. Because I have stories. And sometimes being some place else lets me believe I can be some place else some day. In other areas of my life. It's only when I get home that I see the truth of where I'm at. Maybe that's why I wanted to be a writer. To be able to transport myself and other people some place different. To feel like if I wrote things just right, I could make people understand.