Fear and the Meaning of Life

I almost typing ’05 on a document I was saving on my computer and it took me a minute to realize it’s ’15, not ’05. How did 10 years go by so fast?

Yesterday I spent the day writing my admissions essay to get into a master’s program for nutrition. Mostly I’m nervous about the amount of time it will take to do all this work and do my day job too. I’m worried I’ll never have time for fun, especially with my new love, a man I adore. But if I don’t do this, I’m afraid I’ll never do anything, that I’ll just continue working at the grocery store forever. Eventually maybe I’d get back into marketing, but the further I get away from it, the less likely it seems I’ll get a job doing that again, nor do I want to go there again.

Ten years ago I was married to my first husband, had not yet gone to grad school for my MFA, which, resulted in nothing but student loan debt, which one of my friends believes will end in student loan forgiveness. One can only hope.

Over the weekend my first love died in a car accident. He was driving his truck on a closed road and lost control, was ejected from the truck which landed on him several times. When we were in high school we used to drink beer and he’d play his guitar and sing to me. He was a sweet country boy who lived with his grandfather and in the summer we would ride around the country in his old Cutlass Supreme and listen to Creedence Clearwater Revival. My sister often expressed her admiration at his business scheme to pick up pecans for money. He friended me on Facebook a few months ago and I accepted, only to defriend him a few days later because he kept posting embarrassing comments on my photos, and I didn’t want my friends to see that I was friends with a redneck. I know. Real mature. He had a son.

Today I’m full of fear about going back to school. I have less than $200 in my bank account that is supposed to last me for two weeks, which is about what life was like for me as an undergraduate. I will need to get gas and buy groceries, so it will be almost depleted before I get paid again, and when I get paid, everything will go to rent. I was on the verge of calling my mom and asking for money – to me, this is one step away from begging on the streets – when I remembered that I’d paid the $500 deductible for a minor fender bender, and the insurance company owes that back to me because it wasn’t my fault. So while it seemed like a curse when I was told I had to pay at the auto body store, it was a blessing because I paid with my credit card, and now the insurance company is putting $500 directly into my bank account. I’m living off my credit card which is fast approaching its limit, but I’m trying not to think about that right now. I’m just lucky that I’ll get that money to pay rent, and then I need to consider freelance writing to get some extra money. Maybe I should go back and apply to marketing jobs again. I will have to ask my boss to let me have weekends off for school, which is a weekend program, and I don’t see that going over well at all. They want us to work one day each weekend.

I am so worried that I won’t do well in school, that it will be too hard to study while working full time, that I’ll have no life, no time to see my love, and I will never have enough money to get by on. I know it’s not true, that it will work out, but I don’t feel like it will. I feel like it will be like everything else seems to have been up to this point in my life: a start was made, it seemed like a good idea at the time, and later it did not work out, and I had to start all over again, just to do the same thing again with different men and different jobs in different houses. I just want something to work out. I don’t want it all to end one day in some freak accident to show up in some random stranger’s inbox and for that person to wonder what it all meant for me, what it was all for, that I never got anywhere in life but was always trying.


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