Seclusion

I woke up this morning, turned to see what time it was on my alarm clock and noticed the temperature said “56″. As in degrees. In my apartment. Sigh. Although I love the four large windows that run along one wall of my apartment- for in the summer they provide wonderful breezes and in the afternoon, the perfect reading light- in the winter, they may as well be wide open. With wind gusts up to 40 mph last night, it felt as if I was sleeping in Wuthering Heights.

I did not go outside at all yesterday. With the sleet and snow being all horizontal and shit…I preferred to spend my day sending out resumes, catching up on some television and blog-reading. I didn’t feel sad (despite what yesterday’s post may have indicated)- perhaps more accurately: a little morose. A little worried. But mostly, I think I had post-vacation depression. With a dash of PMS for good luck.

At 6:30pm my mother called. She was driving home from work and wanted to check in.

Sidenote: For those of you who know me in ‘real life’, you know how I feel about trying to have a real conversation via cell phone when one is driving, shopping, pumping gas into one’s car, etc. Mostly, I find it rude. It’s more about you multi-tasking and less about wanting to really listen to what the person on the other line is saying. But, after only talking to one other human being the entire day…I made an exception.

My mother and I spoke for about 25 minutes until I realized that she only works 4 miles from home. Real love is sitting in the garage with your car running (garage door open, obviously…) so that you don’t have to interrupt a conversation. Especially when it’s Valentines Day and your husband is waiting inside so he can shower you with kisses. I love these conversations with her- it makes me thankful that I have her in my life. I’m a lucky, lucky kid…to have the full spectrum of parenting represented in my family.

“So, you’re okay, right?” she asked tenderly.

“I’m okay. Trying to stay positive and know that in 3 months I’ll look back on this as the best decision I could have made. I know I’ll find the right job for me…And I’ll be compensated well for my hard work.” I replied.

“But, you know…You know we’re willing to help if you need it. That is what family is for. I know you’re proud and you don’t like accepting help…And that’s probably my fault. But just know, all you have to do is ask. We are here. We’re proud of you.” she asserted.

I grimaced a bit at the ‘my fault’ but knew what she meant.

“I just want to be able to take care of myself, Mom. I’m almost 34 years old. My friends are buying houses. My friends are having kids. They are in love and going on vacations and own cars. They are in jobs they love and here I am…Contemplating on how I’m going to pay my rent and my taxes…and if I can take care of myself- again. I know it’s not fair to compare myself to others…But I just feel like I need to get my shit together.” I cried.

Yeah. That’s pretty much when I lost it.

I suppose I’m grieving. I suppose I’m scared. I know I need to lean on others during this time- but often…there is the distinct feeling…that when a person says “So, how are you?” they don’t really want to know. They want the easy answer. They want to move on and discuss plans for the weekend. They want to gloss over. And, after thinking about my ‘transition’ all day…I want to gloss over it, too.

After a little weepy session with my Mom over the phone, I felt better. I still don’t have proper footing. I still feel a little lost. But I know I’m not alone. Life goes on. And the tide will turn. And if all else fails, I can sit in my urban version of Wuthering Heights and try to channel Emily Bronte. It’s the uninterrupted opportunity to write that book, right?