It’s difficult sometimes thinking up things to write for this. I started it because I have a lot of things knocking about in my head, but sometimes they just flit away like so many dreams. It’s hard to imagine anyone would want to read anything about you when you don’t think you have anything interesting to say.
My life right now consists of very little. A job I hate, in a city I want to leave, television all day, books at night. When I can get enough hours at work things are better and worse at the same time. Worse because I’m tired and irritable from lack of sleep, and better because I am not entertaining myself by watching entire seasons of Hotel Babylon in one day. Weeks where I hardly work at all should feel like long expanses in front of me that need to be filled one minute at a time, but they don’t. They feel too short, like I am ticking down the minutes until I am forced back into glaring lights and subservient behavior located in the fifth circle of hell.
And I feel trapped. I can hardly make enough money to have fun on the weekends let alone move out of my mother’s house. I should feel grateful that I get a square meal everyday, but I don’t. I should be grateful that I don’t pay for my cell phone or my food or car insurance, instead I feel angry that I’ve poured so much money into a car which coolant is now pouring out. I’m not happy that I don’t have any major health problems, I just worry that some will appear while I am still without health insurance. What was supposed to be a few months has stretched into over a year and there’s no light on the horizon.
I apply for jobs I would like but secretly wonder if I want them, because I am not sure I want a job in a city where I do not want to live. I don’t want to be stuck, I don’t want to feel like it would be easier to stay in one place. And because of all that I feel guilty.
I feel like I can not be the person I should be for other people. I feel like I should be something or do something to make people proud of me; my parents, my friends, everybody. I feel like it’s been a very long time since I’ve brought anything but disappointment.
I like Cleveland, I really do. I like it much more than I ever thought I could when leaving high school. I was bored then, I spent my weekends seeing movies for the fourth time because I didn’t think there was anything better to do. Now I know better. I know there are all sorts of areas and all sorts of arts and all sorts of people to make this one of the best places I’ve ever seen. From my mother’s humble abode in Cleveland Heights I can walk to thirty four restaurants. I don’t, but it’s nice to know that I can. My two favorite bars; Parnell’s and the Grog Shop, are both within walking distance, which is rather convenient, same goes for Sunday brunch. Within a seven minute drive is the Art Museum, the Natural History Museum, the Western Reserve Historical Society, and the Cleveland Institute of Art. Add seven more and I’m downtown. The beach is not that far away, and Lake Erie is just as beautiful as the ocean. I don’t want to leave Cleveland because I don’t like it, I want to leave Cleveland because I’ve already lived here. I want to leave because there are other places that I haven’t even gotten to yet.
I moved back in with my mother because I was supposed to go to Europe. I’d saved five thousand dollars and was going to get a crappy job I wouldn’t mind quitting in a few months to earn some more. I wanted to be gone for four months. I opted out of birthday or Christmas presents from my mother so that she’d buy me a plane ticket. It was all a mistake, I should have gone as soon as I got home and gone for a shorter amount of time. I would have been broke when I got home but the alternative ended up being so much worse. Looking for a crappy job took much longer than I had anticipated, and by the time I found on in the fifth circle, I’d spent my savings. And now there is nothing.
I was happy in Columbus, I had a job I genuinely liked and felt important doing (even though I knew I wasn’t). I had friends who worked around my hours and coworkers that were amusing. I had enough money to stop for Chinese if I wanted it, and I had an apartment I loved. And above that, until they decided they didn’t want me anymore, I had school. I miss school. There are so many people who hate it and can’t wait for it to be over, I wish I could go back. I was never the best student but I loved classes. I loved learning new things that I’d never need. I loved being a student, carrying books, and rolling my eyes at lost freshmen. I loved reading novels between classes under a tree in the Oval. I even sort of loved belonging to something.
People ask me why I don’t just go back, and I tell them I don’t have the money. I never tell them the real reason; I can’t. I admire people who realize their lives are not the way they want them, and then change them, because I can’t seem to do the same.