I keep thinking I've come to the realization that this is actually happening, and that there's nothing I, or anyone, can do to change it. I keep thinking I've got it, and then I have a day like today.
The day started out rough; not bad, considering, but I really didn't want to get out of bed. I got up, got dressed, and finally got myself to work. It was so quiet this morning. It was just me and Mindi for most of the morning, and I had to go sit in Mindi's office and just talk for a while to keep it together. The day picked up later, and kept me distracted for the time being. After work, I needed to stop at the apartment to pick up a few things, and go through some stuff.
When I walked in, it looked like a different place; the Don Quixote print gone from over the fireplace, the Mingus poster gone, as well. There was a big pile of everything she'd packed up in the bedroom. I got a box, took down our wedding portrait, a picture of us from the mantel, and my Spongebob wedding cake topper, and put it all away. I figured it would be a good idea to do it now, instead of on Saturday. I went through some old mail and documents, and dug out what was hers. Then I took the three owl drawings I had done for her years ago off the refridgerator, and put them in a folder. Then I laid down on the couch and wept... and wept.
All the while, I had been trying to reach her on the phone, to see when she'd be home. She finally got back to me, and met me at home. I was still on the couch crying when she came in. And I begged. I begged and pleaded, and cried. We talked, we cried, we argued a bit, and at the end of the day, everything's still the same.
I panicked this evening, mostly about what I'm going to do. (When I start thinking about losing my home, I panic about losing Nancy. Then when I shift to thinking about losing Nancy, I panic about losing my home.) I felt the immensity of everything around me weighing down on me. We have stuff everywhere, and that's part of the problem. And she's right, of course: I'm the reason we have all the stuff. I just thought I was doing the right thing.
It turns out it isn't just a difference of opinion on what life is about. I'm too controlling, and can be too negative. I know this, and have worked on it, and even gotten better about it, but I can't change who I am. She still tells me there's nothing I could have done different. It's just who I am, and she doesn't expect me to be someone different.
Like I said, I begged and I pleaded. I said I could change. I said I could give up and be what she needed, but that's not what she needs. And of course, I'd be miserable. In my head, now, it seems worth it to be with her, but she's right: it would be worse.
But that leaves me, still, in the same predicament.
Barring some miracle (starting a new job with sufficient pay in the next week), I'm probably not staying at the place in Norwood. I have the option to sublet, and I should probably do it before I burn through every dime I have. I guess there's worse things than packing up, storing what I can, selling or giving away everything else, and repairing to the nurturing home of my mother and stepfather. It might be what I need to get my head right, and get back on my feet. But I don't know what the right thing to do is. I've never done this before.
But I'm trying not to think too far ahead, at least for a few more days. I have an appointment in the morning with a client who, maybe, by some miracle, will give me enough money to get me through for at least a few months. Or should I sublet anyway and get a smaller place? Or move with my mom? I need answers, and right now all I find are questions. I guess that comes with the territory.
I'm hoping for a certain someone, like some old-time magician, to pull a rabbit out of his hat, but unlike the toppers of those great performers of old, I know the hat's empty. I'm hoping for real magic.
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