Disney wasn’t bad. At least, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. There were still tons of people. We still stood in line way longer than is justifiable for a 10-minute ride. I didn’t get sunburnt because I actually remembered to buy sunscreen.
SPF 100. Yeah. That’s a giant middle finger to sunburn.
I don’t really have much to say about the trip, to be honest. I’m glad we had the vacation home. I got to sleep in a room by myself rather than having to share space with someone. There was a really nice walk-in shower. It was great being roughly 15 minutes away from the parks and not having to commute an hour each way through rush hour.
I got to have a root beer float at the Magic Kingdom. That’s something I remember doing with my dad when I was 13. That was the first time I had been to Disney. I don’t know why, but that’s the only thing that stood out to me on that first trip. My dad had asked if I ever had one. My answer was no. We went by ourselves and stood in line and still made it back to the center of the park for the fireworks with everyone else. Just me and dad, trying to bond and repair our shattered relationship.
Funny how it doesn’t seem like much has changed over what… 15 years? Roughly that long anyway. At some point, I guess numbers really don’t matter.
I haven’t talked to him since Ohio. I haven’t had a chance to make the little podcasts that I wanted to make for everyone, and now it’s been so long I wonder if it’s worth it.
I guess I should mention that I’ve been sick since Sunday and so right now even though I’m on the mend and can feel this is the upswing of recovery, I’ve had a lot of time to sit and think and ponder on things.
I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Right now I’m sort of in a, “What’s the point?” mindset. It’s not a sad or depressing, “What’s the point?” It’s more of a hollow, empty, white feeling.
There’s nothing. Stillness. There’s no answering echo to the question. Just the question drifting off into the vast expanse of nothingness inside my mind. No one else to hear the words. No one else to answer.
I haven’t had to worry about missing work due to the sickness because I’m unemployed. I guess that works out. I’ve watched both season one and two of Mr. Robot. Super interesting show. I highly recommend it.
I haven’t been to the dojo in over a week. I canceled my therapy session today since I think I’m still contagious with the plague. I don’t really have much to talk about anyway. I could bitch about not wanting a roommate. I could meander through the events at Disney. But I mean, honestly, I don’t have a lot to talk about.
I haven’t had any hardcore life revelations. I don’t have a job yet. No call backs. I applied at EA. There’s a spot on their team I wouldn’t mind filling.
I’m back to feeling purposeless. Directionless. There’s not a whole lot I can do while I’m sick. I can’t train. I can’t run. I can sit on the couch and feel like crap basically. Surprisingly I haven’t been making myself feel bad emotionally. I normally would with how little I’ve been doing. Chores haven’t gotten done even though there are two people living here.
The evil bitch in me thinks, “Of course they haven’t. You’re the only one who does anything because you’re the only one who cares.” Which the logical side of me views as accurate because if I wasn’t the only one who cared then he would to them, too, without me asking or reminding.
I keep thinking about the loneliness I felt and how I didn’t want to live alone because I was worried about being alone. I wonder if I made the right choice by asking Warren to move down here. I helped him get out of the situation with Amber, but now I’m resentful.
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to pay me to rent this month. At least not all of it.
I feel used. I feel the sensation of bleeding out over money. The money I told myself I wouldn’t spend on others, but there’s at least 6,000 owed to me because I didn’t stick to my rule. It sucks and I have no one to blame but myself.
And maybe blame is the wrong word. I knew this is how it would be. It doesn’t change. No matter how much people will things to be different, it’s not. It’s just words and warm fuzzy thoughts. It doesn’t do anything to change reality.
I knew what I was doing, and I made the choices I made. There’s no blame. More acceptance I think. I wanted to be wrong, but I wasn’t. My distress comes from not accepting the fact that I was right.
I had to call the student loan company the day before I left for Disney. I figured I should do that before the trip so I could have answers. Mom’s account is fully closed out.
I should be happy. I know it’s a positive thing. Instead of having a hundred thousand dollars of debt I have what is a very manageable amount. I could pay off all my debt in a year if I took the Californa job, or even faster if I got the job at EA since I wouldn’t have to pay for two places.
It bothers me, though. It’s another stark reminder that mom is gone. No, not gone. Dead. Mom is dead. And right now typing that, thinking it inside my head causes my chest to ache. I was at Disney at the 10-month mark. February 4th. It’s almost been a year. That fact hurts.
It hurts in a way that causes silent tears to run down my cheeks. I don’t want it to be true. I also want people to keep their word. I want fidelity and honesty to mean something. I want paying my taxes on time to matter. I want having been a teacher for four years to have changed the world in some way.
Wanting doesn’t change anything, though. Only action does.
The last conversation I had with my mom on the phone was when I told her about being accused of plagiarism for my Digital Arts and Design class. I don’t even remember what course it was. I remember her saying she didn’t feel well and that we would talk more when she wasn’t so under the weather.
I feel like a lot of the things I talked to her about, that I write about, are trivial. Meaningless. Of all the things I could have said or told her, I was bitching about my life.
I don’t know where I’ll be on March 4th. I don’t know where I’ll be on April 4th. I don’t know where I’ll be on April 4th in 27 years; the day I will have lived longer than I knew my mom.
That fact still sucks. Still aches.
A lot of it does.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up and I’ll most likely feel better physically. Less sick. Able to breathe easier. But I feel like emotionally I’ll still feel alone. Empty. Pointless. I’ll do the chores because I have to. Because I’m the responsible one who cares about not living in filth and dog fur. I’ll still feel used for doing those actions that I would have to do if I truly did live alone, so feeling used seems silly and childish but I can’t seem to get over it.
I’ll still stress over the job thing even though I told myself I could have a full year and I’m technically still owed two months. I wouldn’t be stressing if money weren’t an issue, but it is because society sucks. At the moment I want to say people suck, but that doesn’t seem fair because some people don’t suck, and even the ones that suck have redeeming qualities on some level or they wouldn’t be in my life.
It’s nights like this where I wished I could live alone in a cave surrounded by nature and be a hunter gather like old times.
It makes me wonder if the lack of medical care, lack of “comforts” was worth it. Even though it was a shorter life spans was it a fuller one? If I lived life in a third world country, toiling away all day to make a meager living would I die happier than if I died now?
Am I happy now?
No. I’m not. I’m not happy because I don’t feel like I’m living life. I’m existing. Going to Disney wasn’t really living. Being sick hasn’t really been living. I think there’s more to it than that, though.
If I were a stranger my advice would be, “You are loved. It’s ok to hurt. You’ll make it through this because you’re strong. Even if you don’t know how, you will because things work out how they’re supposed to.”
It would be nice if those words weren’t just inside my head. Things that I say to myself. I want to hear mom’s voice say them to me. Maybe I’ll see her in my dreams again. I still cherish my first dream of her. The one where I was sleeping in the extended stay bed and my phone rang and it was her.
I’ll always cherish it. And I think of that as my actual last call with her.
I love you mom. I miss you.