Home Again

A year ago, Dad mentioned the possibility of me moving back in if I didn't get a job by the time school started. A week or two later, I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to get through this unemployment thing on my own. (Going back just now to find that post, and re-reading it, makes me think, "Damn, what a difference a year makes.") I think we all honestly thought the jobless stretch couldn't last. I'm a great catch! I'm a good teacher who had a bad administrator. Etc., etc.

So here I am. I'm watching the start of another school year rapidly approach and I don't have a job. Oh, I'm still waiting to hear about that interview from Friday, but with the way things have been in California, I don't hold my breath for anything anymore. Even with the good luck wishes of Richard from Keane, I'm gearing myself up for the very real possibility that I will find myself in September, still jobless.

And I'm so tired.

Let me be frank: I live off of $1,800 a month on unemployment. If I had someone to share the load with, things would be tight. On my own, I live in what I laughingly call (on a good day) "genteel poverty." Rent is $1,045 a month and the bills are piling up (I still owe well over $2,000 on the trip to the ER from last October--if you are one of those people who think that "Obamacare" is "socialism," kindly fuck off, or try being a single woman living on $1,800 and no healthcare for a while).

But this post isn't about having a pity party. With considerable help from Mom and Dad and the occasional eBay sale, I'm squeaking by. I'm just so tired of deciding between a tank of gas and a fridge full of healthy food, or, this week, between cat food and a pair of jeans that aren't wearing through at the knees (obviously cat food wins, and I stay home in my pajamas or workout clothes). I'm tired of paying over $1,000 a month for a 750-square foot apartment right on a parking lot where people have loud conversations while I'm watching TV or trying to sleep. I'm tired of loud music and never being able to park near my front door.

All of this is, of course, leading to me moving in with Mom and Dad. The subject came up yesterday and for once, I'm not screaming loud, messy denials and claiming independence. I'm thinking how nice it will be to pay $400 a month on my hospital bill instead of $50, and not give more than half of my money away to landlords who can't be bothered to fix the electrical issue that has always plagued my porch light, rendering it useless these three years. It would mean giving up my space, my little haven, but it would also mean paying off debt, having a little money each month for a new bra, or a book, or hell, a movie once in a while.

Mom and Dad understand how hard this move will be for me, and have agreed to completely clear out the guest room closet and the two cabinets on either side of the bed. There's already a TV (with cable!) in the room, and though it would be a tight fit, there is room for a desk so I can have my computer and not have to constantly battle Mom and Dad for computer time. I might even be able to squeeze my piano into the house somewhere--it's electric and has headphones so I could play anytime and not bug anyone. I need that. I've been getting back in the habit of practicing daily--Keane songs, Beethoven, scales, whatever I feel like. It's calming.

It's obviously not my first choice, but, if I don't have a job by the end of August, my choice will be to move back home. Mom will let me steal a corner of her craft room from time to time so I can make cards and banners. With the cabinets on either side of the bed cleared out (they are currently home to fabric and yarn), I'll have more than enough room for books, DVDs, my jewelry, and a few other must-haves. I'm sure I can wrangle a little space in the garage to store the Rubbermaid bins I use for my eBay stuff and I can have a few of my favorite things for comfort, like my favorite tea mugs and my pillows.

More problematic will be my workout regime. The nearest 24 Hour is a 20-minute drive away. I can run in Mom and Dad's neighborhood, but will probably limit my gym time to three days a week. I can get around this by doing some exercises at home. I have a balance board and I've been wanting to buy a new stability ball (my last one was too small for the exercises I need it for).

I'm adaptable--that's one thing I'm proud of in myself. I can move to England, or Washington. I survived Antioch and I moved to Stockton even when others questioned my sanity for it. I've thrived here, and yes, I will miss it. I'll miss Chorale, and my gym and the people in it. I'll miss walking to Marina Market for a few groceries, and the big old trees in my apartment complex. I'll miss working for Animal Friends Connection.

But again, I'm adaptable. Being in Lincoln means spending more time at A Chance For Bliss (scooping horse manure--there's a workout). Perhaps I can join the Sacramento choral group--I wouldn't mind the 30-minute drive once a week. I can make this work.

Besides, with all this opportunity to save money, I can have a little nest egg saved up for when I do get a job again...and maybe even a "Keane fund," because they'll be releasing and album next year, and touring it. And I won't miss Keane, even if it means wearing holey jeans and a ratty old bra to do it.