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Crying is such a waste of good time better spent really living.

December 10, 2017 Journal Entry


A third of December is gone. It hit me two nights ago I will not only have to catch up on December’s rent but pay January rent in 20 days. I began my panic. Even if I got a job within a week, I wouldn’t get a paycheck, or enough of a paycheck to pay January rent in time.


I spent a sleepless night going over my plan to get the apartment organized and take pictures of everything and sell everything on Craigslist. But I should have done that two weeks ago when I originally hatched my plan. Instead, the middle of the apartment is piled high with plastic bags of garbage and empty boxes I seem unable to walk down the hall to the dumpster by myself. There are still boxes left unpacked from my move five weeks ago. The kitchen is dirty, at least three dishwasher loads behind. Now when I need a cup or a glass, I just pick one up off the kitchen counter, look inside to see if there is any solid matter and if there isn’t I just use it to drink or microwave soup.


And I often lay in bed and try to remember the last time I took a shower. And I can’t. The days all blend together. When Adrian calls, I ask him what day it is. Friday, he texted and said he was coming over no matter what because I shouldn’t be alone that many days in a row. I think I had been alone for four days. And now it’s Sunday night, actually almost Monday morning. I’ve slept since Adrian left Saturday morning. I’ve been terribly sick with stomach stuff. I get up for about a half hour at a time, try to eat but usually fail, try to drink and am able to get some juice and water down.


This is the longest I’ve been up, about an hour and a half. I ate some soup. My Keurig is broken. I made some Chai tea, and the water wouldn’t stop running and the first cup overfilled, then part of the second until I finally just turned it off. This is very sad to me and a clear indicator my time here is coming to a close. Did I just say that? Yes, I did.


I now believe my time in Louisville is coming to a close.


My mom called yesterday evening. She told me she’d pay my phone bill until I got back on my feet. Then she asked if I had money for rent. No. No money. So, she asked if I wanted her to pay my rent or my phone. I said rent. Then she asked if I had money for the phone. I said no. So, she’s paying my rent and phone for January. That gives me a very small reprieve.


I always know when it’s time to make a change. Last August, when Rachel was told me I had a place with her, it wasn’t time yet. I wasn’t ready to give up on Louisville. I was still very attached to Jeff. Even though I hadn’t seen him in more than a month, I didn’t want to leave the place where he might actually be breathing some of the same air I am breathing. Stupid. Ridiculous actually. Ludicrous. But you can’t argue with your feelings.


At that time in my heart, I couldn’t picture leaving here. Not yet. It wasn’t time. Even when I started this panic Friday night – this particular episode of panic – I couldn’t see leaving. But the idea started to take shape in my mind. I can’t tell you exactly when. Maybe it was during a phone call with Chase. I told him what my mom was doing for me, then I said, “So if I don’t have a way to pay February rent by mid-January, I need to think about going back to Washington.” I said it without knowing I was going to say it at all. I had no idea that was going to come out of me. Suddenly, it became a real thing. I could see the written words forming over my head.


This morning I texted Rachel, told her I needed to catch her up. We spoke this evening. Her invite is still open. For both me and the cats. I have a place to go. So now it’s more real.


Every time I say it, it becomes more real and more palatable. It’s not that I don’t want to go stay with Rachel. I will probably be laughing as much in a month’s time with her as I’ve cried the entire time I’ve been here. Actually, it will take more than a month of laughing to outweigh the amount of tears I’ve shed in Louisville. It may take years. But at least I’ll be laughing. Crying is such a waste of good time better spent really living.


Just a few minutes ago standing in front of the overflowing Keurig, I said to myself, “At least I know I gave it my best shot.” But then I started to wonder, did I give it my best shot? Did I really do everything I could have done? Probably yes. But I don’t know for certain. Does it matter? Was it my best? I don’t really know. And probably won’t ever. And no, it doesn’t matter.

Photo by Joshua Michaels on Unsplash

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