And then, somehow, it was July.
I've been living day to day, but then somehow the opposite of that. Living not like there's no tomorrow, but more like there's only tomorrow: oh, didn't get to that today; I'll take care of it tomorrow. But it just keeps going like that. Until the journal is a week and a half behind. Until the bills sit, unpaid and past due, in the pile where they sat two weeks ago. Until I've lost all sense of days and weeks. Until my hair is much too dirty, until the dishes overflow. Until it's been so long, too long, since I've written a thing.
This just happens sometimes. I get swept up in the tide of my life, and then pulled along in the undercurrents, and by the time I get my head above water again weeks or even months have slid by along the shoreline. Fortunately, this time no irreparable damage. None that I've identified as of yet, at least. I'm working on getting the bills paid; of course I can't get that wrapped up until I get the checks deposited, but of course they can't be deposited until they're picked up... I'm working backwards.
But really, where did June go? To my little office, I guess. The part time job became more or less full time after the first week, when afternoon girl quit and I offered to stay late when I could until we got a replacement. Well, guess who the replacement is? I need the money, and I have no qualms about quitting if the stress level rises. I don't know. Now it's just something that's happening. No more afternoons for writing, which is sad. But would I have actually used the time productively anyway? Hard to know. Knowing me, probably not, or not often anyway.
So maybe I work there until Christmas, and my three weeks off actually becomes my farewell. Maybe I get a more lucrative full time job come fall. I don't know. I keep trying to calculate how the money will click, but for some reason I just can't make my brain work the numbers. Likely due in no small part to the fact that I just don't want to deal with the ugly truth of matters.
And the truth? My life is too expensive. I should give up my studio, thus vastly cutting my monthly outlay, but I refuse. In lieu of that, I should get a real job in the city that would pay me approximately three times what I'm making now. Again, I refuse. I'm being stubborn and irrational and probably irresponsible as well. I'm afraid that getting another "real" office job would simply destroy my little soul, the one that's just come back to life again. That if I travel back down that road, I'll watch all of the things that I've begun to work on and accomplish fade and die again.
So, why am I at the office I'm at? Because it's different. No really, it is. This is a job I can walk to, I can glide through, I can not care about. In my mind it's fake, it's temp. And it doesn't involve the stresses of depending on the subway and going into Manhattan every day. So often at the old job, just the thought of stepping into that mass transit system, that rushing river of busy busy people, would reduce me to tears. This is just a walk through the neighborhood, which I usually spend reading a book.
Once I settle into my real "full time" schedule there it will take up nine hours a day including transit. Through July, I leave at 2 on Tuesdays, "because I have class". (I do have class that day, but it's at 6. Actually it's because I had to move my therapy appointment to 3 on Tuesdays to make my Thursday evening class, but maybe they don't need that much info about me just yet.) So I won't really really be full time there until August.
The work / responsibility load is minimal; now they want me to handle all things medical record, which I'll do to keep myself busy, but I'm gonna do it at exactly the speed at which it wants to get done. There's a huge backlog and that's not my fault. These things take time, and anything that I do is pretty much a bonus for them, so any complaining or stress inducing chats will be met with my two weeks' notice. I essentially have my own office; I don't have windows per se, but I have a window that looks out onto windows. I'm planning on bringing in a plant, because in this office it won't immediately die. So, different. But with a price tag.
As usual, we shall see. I'll plod along, and another month from now things will be totally different once again. That's just how life is working right now. I've got big projects afoot, a painting class just revving up, and the certainty of scorching heat to keep me indoors and looking for things to work on. Ah, the thirtieth year. Never a dull moment. But then, it's not as if there ever was.