Today I’m going shopping for new furniture for my soon-to-be beautiful, modern, romantic bedroom. Sure, I’m a broke grad student/grocery store worker, but that’s what student loans and credit cards are for, right? I’ll be paying off my student loans for the rest of my life, so I may as well be comfortable in my own living space. Plus, I’m getting my tax return back soon, so why not go ahead and spend money I don’t have, now? It’s the American way. The good news is I have excellent credit for that tiny house I’ll one day own, or more likely, townhouse. Though I must admit that my tiny house dreams have been squashed. Having lived in single bedrooms for the past two years, without my own kitchen, and without my own bathroom until now, I’ve gotten a taste of what life might be like living in a tiny house, and it’s a bit like living in a Barbie doll house. You get to smell other people’s poop and hear them having sex, when you really preferred to think of them as robots without bodily functions. So yes, today I have excellent credit for that townhouse or condo that feels like I’ll never be able to afford, what with the six-figure debt I’m accumulating, but I must keep my positive thinking cap on and know that one day it will become a reality.
But super organized, like this (imagine the walls less pastel and more of a gray-lavender, the romantic Benjamin Moore piano concerto of my last bedroom):
But the reality is, right now my rooms looks more like this:
But that’s okay! I’m getting there.
Decorating my own space feels so… stabilizing. I feel so much more grounded today than I did a year ago or even six months ago. Most of my life felt shaky, temporary. And while everything is temporary in that everything changes all the time, that feeling was within me. It was an overwhelming feeling of defeat, of giving up before trying. No need to decorate this place, I don’t own it, and I’ll just move in a few months or a year anyway. The marriage didn’t last, the job wasn’t what I wanted, real life was out there waiting, or rather, I was waiting for real life to happen, if I could just figure out how to get to it. I had no real home. Nowhere felt like home. Maryland was not my home because I was born in the real South, but Georgia’s not my home either because my mom didn’t live there, and I have no interest in that state. North Carolina was probably my home more than anywhere because Mom lived there, and then my sister and my best friend, and then my boyfriend’s kids, so I’d probably move there one day. But without meaning to, my life had already taken root, loosely, in Maryland. Then Mom died. And when your mother dies, and then the person you think of as your soul mate breaks off the relationship that you prioritized over everything else in your life, you feel… homeless. I did, anyway.
But that’s not true for me anymore.
Home was right here, all the time. Not necessarily in Maryland, though I do love this state. Will I live here for the rest of my days? Who knows? My plan right now is to get through grad school, and then apply to jobs everywhere. Depending on where I am at that point in my life, I could wind up in California. I doubt it, because it’s so expensive there, but west coast life really appeals to me. The point is, it’s no longer about waiting for life to happen. It’s about being here now, making a home here now, being comfortable with right where I am, now.
So I don’t know if the ex and I will get back together or not. I do love him. But I have been sent off into the world on my own, a stronger woman today, and I have a life of my own, things to do, friends to make, rooms to decorate, school work to study, management skills to learn. The man I end up dating will have to be able to deal with that for the relationship to work. One thing I know is that the old way didn’t work. Putting Steven first wasn’t good enough for him, and it sure as hell wasn’t good for me. To be fair, I don’t think he saw it that way. But that’s certainly what I did, whether he realizes it or not. He probably put me first too, and that’s not healthy either.
I want to write more and edit this post but I have to get ready for work, and I want to publish something. I am a bit of a lazy blogger, putting all my first drafts up, but I have a feeling I’ll have to delete this blog once I get my career going because this shit is too personal. It’s like an online diary for the world to read. I can’t possibly let the world know all this. Or can I? Maybe I will anyway, because eff it. This is who I am, and people can like that or not.
Okay. Work. I have to go there.