Building the Bon Vivant

I kind of decided to move out on a whim.

That's not wholly true. I had been thinking about it since I moved in, but I actually put all of the pieces in place and did it earlier this month really quickly...and oh man. I'm deep in the proverbial throes of the change cycle - the part where it is so uneasy that it's hard to know to the right decision even exists...let alone if I've made it or not.

I wrote this last week when this was true:

This is the second full week of living there full-time. I came home last night and made dinner and realized that I had an Iraqi bootleg copy of the entire series of The Golden Girls on DVD. Unfortunately, it doesn't mean that the show is dubbed in Arabic (how flipping amazing would that be, I've lamented) but that the recording quality isn't great.

So, this is the third full week that I have lived alone. And after working my way through the entire series of, "Two Fat Ladies," I am still deep-diving into my shitty copy of The Golden Girls and loving my solitude. There are weird things. Like when I had unpacked everything that could be unpacked and kind of stood in the hallway and realized that that was all there was to do for that moment. I live in this proverbial state of having lots to do - and much of it is my own making. Even if my own making means that I am cleaning up after someone that is old enough to clean up after themselves. But in that moment I had no idea how to sit down and watch television on a loveseat. I am learning. I don't want to get too good at it.

I mopped the floor for the first time over the weekend and the mop water wasn't dirty. That was weird. My new home is in West Virginia. West By-God Virginia: Weird and Wonderful.

I realized quickly how many things I used that belonged to my parents that aren't issued free when you sign a lease: a screwdriver, scissors, nail clippers, coasters, etc. Just kidding - they don't use coasters. Currently, though I am "pinning," coaster crafts that look fun. And I will probably attempt one and it will anger me to eternity and I will realize, once again, that I have zero patience for crafts and need to just enable someone else to make a living from what they like doing - even if I can't do that myself right now.

I pulled the trigger so quickly on moving out because it became so clear that I am just too old to be there (and some other things that are stupid and dramatic and made me cry). When I was finished with watching the final episodes of Two Fat Ladies (for the bazillionth time), I watched the biographic/tribute to Jennifer Paterson - a wonderful woman that kind of drifted through life doing a myriad of wonderful things and stowing away (it seemed) with many wealthy people, had few luxuries and lived a super-convicted existence of old-school Catholicism and high standards for people and their behavior...and good food and drink. Unfortunately, I am no Jennifer Paterson. I'm kind of glad of it, she died much too young and left the world with one less wacky lady that knew about Russian recipes and could sing songs in accompaniment.

In London in the Sixties I was often short of money and sometimes even without a roof over my head, but I was never without a glass of champagne and a party invitation.

I will be thirty-five this December and thirty-five is too old to comply with things that don't make my heart happy and safe. That said, it was only because I found a way to refinance my student loans that I could move out at all - and it seems that the universe was on my side to align the right place, the right landlord and the right stars to make the transition pretty easy. And those stars brought me a private laundry room and a garage that will keep my car snow-free in the wildest of West Virginian winters.

It isn't all good, but it kind of is. I called my ex-husband to get some things from my former apartment and it drummed up the feelings of anger. I tried to speak through text and email a bit about his daughter before this because I do love her and I want to know how she is - she's so grown-up and so nice and it just seems like such a whirlwind of life to see someone become a woman from a  little girl (a first for me). Adding the complexity of the drama in my life to what is already hurtful lead me to a shit place. A shit place that I pulled myself from with one phone call of plain language and some crying. That lead to one trip to my former home that seemed like I never lived there. That lead to retrieving some things that I needed that I didn't want to pay for (again) that I didn't even remember or recognize. And it was uncomfortable to be that exposed and raw person in front of him again because the level of culpability that I think should be there - just isn't and it never will be. And just as much as I want to know about the girl that I saw grow up - see above. I must protect my heart - as awkward and painful as it is.

I am finally starting to sleep soundly. 

The sound of no one criticizing my vegetarian cooking is deafening. 

I can fully hear the electric kettle - and I have tea everyday.

I have two full rows of drinks in my refrigerator that are perfectly aligned. 

I have a recycling bin next to my garbage can. 

It clearly is moving up.

So hush now child, and don't you cry

Your folks might understand you, by and by

Move on up, and keep on wishing

Remember your dream is your only scheme

So keep on pushing

I got promoted today. That is another post.