Today I realized that I’ve gone an entire day without saying a word. Ok that’s a lie. I said goodbye to my partner (my we’ve-been-together-a-long-ass-time-and-plan-on-continuing-it companion), as he left for work first thing this morning. But not another utterance in the past ten hours. That’s because I seem to have made a career out of my couch. And since no one else has chosen this oh-so-professional path (at least not MY couch), I have no couch coworkers, there’s no sofa socializing, and so the only water-cooler discussions I have are with my dog. If I could teach him to fetch me the water, so I wouldn’t have to go get my own in the first place, I’d give myself a much needed promotion in this very lucrative occupation.
I moved to California a year and a half ago when my partner (we’ll call him “P”) was offered a great job opportunity out here. We were buried in boredom and snow in New England, and so it wasn’t a hard decision to make. We opted for sunshine. The Golden State. The land of food and wine. But apparently, unless you do nothing but consume the food and wine 24 hours a day (which I’ve tried), life isn’t instantly sunny.
I gave up my job in Boston without too much hesitation, as even though I had had a fair amount of success, I was over it. I looked at California like people in third-world countries look at America. Like I had been starved, battered, chained and left naked in the blistering cold of Massachusetts and now finally, the rescue ship had come to take me away to the free world. The kingdom of opportunity. CALIFORNIA!! Get a job? No problem. I mean I was a writer. And this was L.A. They even have a guild (whatever that is) for folks like me. This would be a piece of cake. Turns out it was a piece of upside down cake, because that’s what it did to my career.
I’ve freelanced on and off since arriving, but have had nothing stable. And soooo... most of the day I sit. If the depression wasn’t hanging over me like a fat man’s belly roll, I’d use this time as an opportunity to bask in the sunshine like the people in magazines do. I’d spend hours in the gym in an attempt to finally see something on my body that stays still when I push on it. Or maybe I’d pick up one of the countless hobbies I always bitch about not having time for. You know, one of those pretty pastimes your girlfriends from high school that you stalk on Facebook are always doing. Like sewing or crafting or pottery. But I don’t. Which thus perpetuates the cycle of gloom.
And as someone who battles depression when things are going well, I don’t exactly know what to do with this whole thing people call unemployment. I now have nothing to distract me from the people in my head. No paycheck to spend on the vices I use to get through the big D. No lunch meetings where I schmooze and booze and fake my way through, hee-hawing about how life is grand. I HAVE NO PRETEND LIFE ANYMORE!
I know what you’re thinking. Aren’t I supposed to trying to find the positive in all this and not just keeping a blog of bellyaching? Yes. Yes, I am. But what seems like a negative actually became kind of a nice relief for me today. My existence before was just as I stated. It was pretend. It was my faux-life. So even though most of the time, my current three-cushioned “office” seems pretty bleak, it’s much more comfortable than the cube. I might not have said anything today. But I only spoke the truth. And I really think (or am vehemently trying to convince myself) that one day I’ll look back on this period as the era in which I became my true authentic self. Even if I am just a non-crafty, Facebook stalking, upside-down cake eater. And that makes me pretty f**king happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment