Status report

The last time I posted, I lived in North Carolina.

Now I live in Philadelphia.

Before, I was self-exiled from real adult life (or what passes for it at age 23, anyway). Never did I picture myself moving back in with my parents for any reason, ever. In school, I loved running my own damn life, cooking, catching buses. Even the detestable act of paying a bill would bring on a little surge of pride. I stayed on top of that shit this month. For a time, I was schoolin', cohabiting with what I thought (with increasing doubts) was a pretty decent boyfriend, enjoying not fast-tracking myself to grad school. I was in Ann Arbor, and if you don't think about it too much and the weather is nice, Ann Arbor is just the right size to make you feel like you're in control and getting stuff done while the big shit, like money and self-worth and the future, nuzzle up on the edges of your easy, yuppie-lite life.

I knew I was not okay when I found myself crying uncontrollably in the middle of my course on Dada & Surrealism. And walking home from the student newspaper. And any time I'd visit a favorite teacher at office hours, trying to get some kind of affirmation that I wasn't going crazy or throwing my life away.

But I kind of did, and I kind of was.

I went on antidepressants, started counseling (I've had three great counselors and one awful one since), and broke up with my live-in boyfriend right after graduation. He smashed a guitar when I told him, but we rode out the rest of the summer together. (Now he's engaged to some girl four years his junior and working in a chicken restaurant outside Detroit.)

I moved back home and spend most of my time in my pjs or working at either of two mediocre part-time jobs, blowing my money on CDs and student loan payments and generally moping. I got more and more miserable over the summer, saw the opportunity to move away to Philly (a 4-month lease; it's a start) and spent September through January anxious as hell about the move and completely head-in-the-sand about job prospects. I managed to save a few months rent, packed a few bags, got on the train, and now I'm here.

It's kind of scary and very intimidating and I like the city but it can make you feel, well, transparent. Still trying to find jobs, hoping to find some more freelance work, ready to leave behind the aftermath of the mindfuck that was my last relationship and that rudderless post-graduation feeling.

Okay, so that's what's going on. Now maybe I can post something deeper and more interesting than personal life bullshit without making excuses to myself.