I've been trying to land a work from home job as lucrative and bountiful as the one that my friend, KD received with Apple. Now, while I was ecstatic for her (cause she'd been through hell the past several years and really deserved this!), I really, really wanted a job like hers too. Something that I could do from the comfort of my own home, which would allow me to save on gas, and pay all my bills.
Ever since I can remember, I've always been intoxicated by the thought of being able take care of myself. Having my own place, and my own extensive cable channel package (complete with all the things I find essential in comfy living), a bulky Netflix account, and some cheese left over to save in my Roth IRA account, was like mother's milk to me! Ah, the American Dream coming true. Eventually, I'd be able to own my own home. Having never grown up in one, that's my gold standard. How I measure my own success. I think growing up in apartments and two family homes all my life, owning a home means something more to me than probably most.
But now I'm facing the end of that dream. At 36 yrs. old, I find myself spinning in place. I'd only come to realize my true calling and fall in love with a job that could lead to a career once I started working at Hillman. Teaching was no longer something to fall back on, but it was a great passion I'd never even known was there. My true raison d'être. But, a lack of teaching and real world acting experience, cost me that job. And since I met the Man through that job, I guess it stands to reason that that relationship would fall apart as well. No job, no guy, no prospects for either...and no means of providing for myself. And I'm pushing 40. Needless to say, I'm scared shitless.
Everyone keeps telling me to have faith, and that I'll be alright, and every other platitude they can think of to quell my fear. But, that doesn't make me feel better. I'm gonna have to pack up all my shit and move...somewhere. Jersey's always the default option, and while I'm grateful to have it, it tastes and feels like failure to me. Going home with my tail between my legs can't feel like anything else.
I have no space at my grandparents' place, literally. They have 60+ years of things in that house. There's no room for me and my stuff. And they don't have all the channels I do, and I don't wanna force them to pay for shit they can't really afford just so I can keep up with Shameless and Homeland (they have HBO, so thankfully Game of Thrones is safe).
Atlanta gave me a lot, but it took away just as much. But at least here, I'm an adult. My own woman. There, I'm still 16. Alone and single, while my friends there have mortgages, and spouses, and children. They want me to come home, but it doesn't feel like that anymore to me. It's the place that I come from and carry with me, but it's not home. Not without Mommy.
So, in advance of keeping my life here and with great naivety, I bought some things with the hope of getting one of those work from home customer service jobs. But it doesn't look like either one is gonna come to fruition. I've been applying for other jobs like gang busters but to no avail. And so now, I'm stuck. No job. No money. Every time I leave Atlanta, it's never a joyful choice. Last time I left, I felt intrinsically, that I would return. I was 10 yrs. younger. I'm not as hopeful this time around. I'm gonna miss the life I built here. This time, it truly does feel like the end.
Till next time, lovers!
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