Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Oh. I get it now.

After the 6 hours I just had, I really, really get that whole thing about new york being really fucking small. especially if you're a lesbian. and tegan and sara are in town.


the short version is that SC was there. not only there but also at the bar where we all hung out before hand. Elle, my girlfriend, who knows all about what happened between me and SC, was also there. This was not comfortable. But that's not really even the worst part, at least not for me.

The worst part, for me, is that 10.0 was at the concert tonight. I was not prepared for this, and freaked out. For almost a year I would mentally prepare myself before going Major Lesbian Events for the possibility that I would run into her, such that the few times that I did, I was able to brush the whole thing off pretty easily, because I was, in some small part of my brain, expecting it and steeled for it.  This was not one of those times.  Which is good, in that I've stopped preparing myself to survive crossing her path, I think that shows great progress, don't you think? But today I wish I had prepared.  I was not ready for her to breeze by and call out to me.  I was not ready for her to (quite rudely I think) hang around when I was frantically trying to get a drink and GET AWAY FROM HER and trying to not have my girlfriend see me losing my shit--she asked about my job, my life, and attempted to tell me about hers in ways that I was not really digging as I broke into a flop sweat (a telltale sign that I'm really NOT doing well). It was the worst.  I don't understand why it was the worst, and hate that it was the worst, but it was. The. Worst.

It felt like a PTSD reaction. I felt triggered and had an extremely strong urge to flee. I barely remember the order of events, or what was said. I'm acutely aware of the presence of Elle and 10.0 in the same space and it feeling bizarre and surreal.  I was aware that when I introduced Elle to 10.0 (by name), 10.0 said "oh, hello girlfriend." I found this obnoxious. I'm aware that when 10.0 asked me if I "liked my job" I just said "no" and then possibly didn't respond when she asked follow up questions because I DID NOT WANT TO TALK TO HER.  I am aware that once I had managed to get my hands on a drink, I did not waste any pleasantries on her as I fled with my drink, my girlfriend, and the last shreds of my dignity.

Seeing her brought up all sorts of badness. It reminded me, all at once, of that whole confusing painful year of my life, 2 years ago now (which is quite jarring in and of itself, that it's been two years since all of that). A year in which she played a pivotal role, which I hate, because--why her? Which I hate because it makes me feel like an idiot, that I was in love with her. Why? And also, was I really? Or was it lust? I don't even know her, and what I do know tells me clearly that I should have stayed far away. (If you're confused as to why, just follow this link, and start from the beginning. Uck.)  Seeing her reminded me of what a fool I was, and how I felt so played by her. And so hurt. But then I feel so confused. If she hadn't been there, when would I have realized my truth? If it hadn't happened when it did, where would I be now?? And so there's that too...but more than that, the terrible unresolved blob of questions and hurt and embarrassment that lies in the wake of that year when I saw her almost every day.

And then of course this cast a terrible pall over my night with Elle. We were at a t&s concert together for the first time. Something that was so great, and exciting...covered in previous-life shit. I felt so terrible. Impotent and out of control (as Cher would say).  I hated that I had just been traumatized, but hated more that Elle had to deal with any of this at all. My shit had also ruined her night, our night. This is what I feel worst about.

And then I read back over some of the things I wrote about 10.0. 2 years ago, yes, but still. I hate reading it. It is jarring and embarrassing and sad.  And I think "I don't write like this, I barely write at all, when I'm in a good, healthy, safe relationship. What the hell does that say about me?" I don't have an answer to that question yet, but the answer can't be anything good, I'm afraid.

Monday, February 11, 2013


Well it's official. I'm broke.

I think it's important to point that I am consciously choosing to say that I am broke, not poor.  This is actually thanks to this article from The Nation about how 'Girls' and 'Shameless' highlight the difference between being poor and being broke, and please don't let all the venting I'm about to do obscure the fact that I feel fortunate that I get to "choose" to say that I'm broke, not poor. To be honest, though, at this particularly moment, the line is quite fine.

Yesterday all of my frustration about my situation came to a head, as I began prepping to list my engagement ring from my now-over, straight-person marraige on Ebay, and began looking around my room for other things I can sell because I realized yesterday in a panic that with this new student loan payment that starts today (WOOHOO, GRADUATE SCHOOL!) I now can't actually afford the dog walker that I have to pay again starting next week because I share custody of my lovely dog with my asshole ex-husband who has a big yard that my lovely dog can run and play in, and who does not have to pay a dog walker to let said lovely dog out once a day. The irony of this is not lost on me. I try not think too much about the absurdity of the fact that my former husband, who makes beaucoup bucks, does NOT HAVE TO PAY A DOG WALKER (and has a living situation much nicer, ostensibly, for my dog), while I, with an advanced degree, live in a tiny apartment, do not have a nice yard for my dog, and CANNOT AFFORD A DOG WALKER BUT HAVE TO HAVE ONE. So, this train of thought is what led to me having a panicked, angry crying fit yesterday.

Fun. (oh, congrats on the Grammy win, btw.)

So yeah. I'm really stressed out, pals.  The cost of my rent, my gas bill, my cell phone bill, my internet bill, ONE of my student loan bills (just got a "Loan Debt Burden" forbearance for the other, cripplingly large one. That felt good, let me tell ya) and making minimum payments on all of my credit card debt leaves me with no money left. You have noticed that I did not list anything fun, like liquor or a night out, on that list. You may have also noticed that I did not know, groceries. It's not good, people.

And the thing that's really getting me about all of this? I have done everything by the book, pretty much. With the exception of leaving my on-paper-perfect marriage. Which, if you've been paying attention, we all know was also the Right Thing to Do. I just obtained a pretty impressive (on paper) degree. I HAVE a fuckin' salaried job, for christ's sake.  But I also lived for almost 2 years primarily on credit, because I had just left a man who was almost completely providing for me financially. This was clearly a no good, very bad strategy. It was also my only option, save leaving NY and moving back to the south to live in my parents' house. So, I hope no one will fault me for not choosing option B.

Except that sometimes? I fault me for not choosing option B. And for living on my own. And for relying on those credit cards. And for buying all those drinks at all those bars, and all that takeout, and all those bottles of wine over the past 2 years.  And for having my own apartment for the past 2 years.  This is a luxury that I clearly cannot afford. And yet, here I am, with a lease with my name on it and a teeny 1-bdr to call my own.  I'm 31. I feel like I should get to live by myself, but also, who am I to think I deserve to live by myself? It's breaking my back financially. And so I feel like an idiot for holding on so tightly to that "need."  Yesterday I spoke with my dad on the phone, and he said, "half-joking" (his words) that I could "always move back down to <insert state here> and easily find a job. And the cost of living is so much lower!" This immediately made me feel angry, stupid, and that's what I should have done, 2 years ago. But then I would feel like I had given up.  I've wanted to be here since I was 14. I am a New Yorker, I'm not a Southerner. I'm just not. I finally got here, and I got here by myself. I "made it," didn't I??  How could I just...leave? When my life is here? My friends are here. My girlfriend, who I love so so much and am so thankful for, is here. How could I ever do that??

Maybe I should have done that.

And then there's the fact that, with all of this, I do have my own apartment, I do have a job. I do have an education.  I do have a loving girlfriend who is buying the groceries for both of us. I know that I am in a much better situation than a lot of people. I am lucky in many ways. But I also feel ashamed. And so very weighed down.

Anyway, the results of the newly released Stress in America survey don't surprise me one bit: people ages 18-33 are more stressed than any other living generation.

Yeah, that sounds about right.