My license is now mine.
Got a kicky green car, a nice little import sedan that makes me happy. I now pretty much live out of it so it’s filthy inside and out, but it’s my home on the go.
A nice little townhouse with my brother, who I never see anymore, in a little in-between unincorporated area a few miles away from the most expensive real estate out of downtown, and a few miles away from endless miles of forests and trailer parks.
Still at the Bar, full time, four nights a week.
I missed the blogosphere, and everyone in it….and to my girl Sauce I just wanted to say thank you for your most recent post. Twice I have sat, hysterically sobbing, unable to sleep, hyperventilating, wondering if I have it in me to come out of my shell, to pursue my dreams, to stay dry and finish college. The last six months with my ex were painful silences and huge spaces in the little castle he built around me, ostensibly to protect me, later I realized: to keep me in his world whether I liked it or not. Two years sitting on my ass in my bedroom, drinking and working a horrible dead end job in a dead little store in a dying local franchise blurred into new faces every other week, little money, and seeing the inside of local dives far more than I ever did my own home.
Now I’m on my own. I’m trying to come out of my shell and do all the things I put on hold when kids were finishing college and getting careers and I stayed in a beer-flavored bubble in Mom and Dad’s attic……and I feel so lost. Living so close to the culture, the arts and the music, I’ve discovered dubstep, appreciate beautiful photography and improv comedy, but in some ways, it’s jarring. A walk through the historical parts of downtown show many new storefronts and names but the same old industry politics and drama. It’s like a chance to start over.
But I get so overwhelmed. I drive down the same highway through towns to get to school and work and I remember Stephen, the beautiful graduate student I pushed away in favor of the Ex, getting his parents to open up about his life and to me, before I dropped him on Valentine’s Day…..Dale, the coke dealer I spent the first awful summer of adulthood with, doing blow and staying up all night in the mosquitos and the humidity…..Taking the route through the projects into the city to avoid an accident on the “I” and seeing where I had my most unbelievable panic attack years ago: I was halfway home before I realized I didn’t have a home to go to anymore, anywhere.
The little gay dive in town has tried to up its appearance….old faces, new faces, the saame bartenders and a constant revolving door of people, pretty little shot boys and new transwomen everyone, lesbians in vicious knock-em-out bar fights. I don’t remember what I was wearing at 18…..shaggy thick hair, huge coke-bottle-bottom specs, walmart clothes that fit my chunky body in all the wrong ways. At 22 I stepped into the dive with a golf cap rakishly draped over my head, a high end shirt that hugged a muscular toned body, snazzy accessories in black leather, boots that elevated me to a confident 6’2”, and jeans that make my (non-existent) ass look amazing. Many a look, none of recognition.
And I realized how small this town is, under it all. I have a chance to start over, and I have taken it……but in some ways I feel trapped in the past, stuck in a the mud somewhere with a broken axle.