"every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end"
I hope the iconoclasts will pardon the mainstream reference, but it seemed apt. It's another in a long series of new beginnings and ends this weekend. After living on my own, to varying extents, for the past four or so years I've finally moved back in with my mother. It's a time honored tradition of young adults with failed plans and wounded ambitions, and I suppose I may as well embrace it.
This is the umpteenth move of the past few years, and for a person so disdainful of materialism, I certainly have a lot of junk. Of course, that's largely because I disdain waste more, so I am reluctant to throw anything away, meaning I am a collector of literal junk on the off chance I'll need to use it. One of the many goals I have is to reduce my possessions to something capable of being transported in one car trip alone; oh, foolish, naive dreamer...
It's the end of my time with Ganesha. I can only thank serendipity that things worked out as they did, but I am quite certain that living alone over the past few months would have been utter misery. Just having someone else around was immensely beneficial, and I shudder to think of the scope of my depression if I'd been left to my own devices. I hope things work out for him (including his fervent desire to have "white childrens with black hairs.")
It's the beginning of the end of my independence. I'll have employment until mid-July, but after that I will be playing a perilous game of waiting, hoping, and praying. The very idea of not working is rather disturbing for me. My life's been so full these past few years, and it feels like the bottom will drop out from under it. If counseling grad school works out, then it'll be fine, but almost an entire year of self-directed loafing? Blasphemy! And yet, that's what I'm looking at.
I've already started formulating plans for the time, of course. I'm going to make a master list of films, novels, video games, and what not to consume. I'm going to learn how to cook. I'm going to create an exercise regimen that I'll keep up with consistently. I'm going to... wear skirts? A lot? That's probably not enough to keep me sane, but it's something at least. Oh, and I'm going to apply to grad schools and then panic crazy-like until I hear back from them.
So that's the future. And I focus on the future, because the present is kind of dismal. I'm not terrified to go to work like I was last semester, but it is definitely a trial each day. Part of it is being so bad at it, but it's also taken on a lot of the elements of, well, high school. I feel caged and beaten and judged and paranoid just like I did when I was in high school myself. I thought I could change it, perhaps, but that's just not possible where I am with who I am. So, instead, I've partially regressed to where I was when I was in school. Except instead of struggling to stay awake, I'm struggling to keep my students from sleeping. Some things don't change and those that do just like to do it ironically.
Three months. And then I won't know the next part for about another nine after that. That's where it forks, either into further failure and disappointment or, hopefully, a better course of action that will lead some place worth going. But, for now, I'm just surviving for three months, waiting until closing time.
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