I've realized that I don't know what to write about when I don't feel sad. I don't know how to effectively communicate happiness, frustration or anger. Only sorrow and bittersweet memories. I'm beginning to think that I enjoy misery, that I'm fluent in grief.
So tonight, I sit at my computer, a dozen empty, sub-par drafts before me, reaching for words that describe mediocre events of my day just to avoid whining.
But please pardon me. I have no choice but to whine.
My house has been sold. This beautiful, wonderful building that I've called home for only five short months will soon belong to someone else. And I'm heartbroken. This place is more than just thousands of square feet of beauty flanked by spacious land and a pristine pool. It's home. Really, truly, home. I come here after a long day at work and feel comfortable, peaceful. Home. And, soon, it will be gone. Of course, it never belonged to me to begin with...But I felt it was mine. Although I may still have a place to live - a different house, but a house that does not belong to my parents - I'm already anticipating the tears that will fall when I leave here.
My bank has informed me that I will now be responsible for a chunk of my up-until-now-free-to-me health insurance. The portion I will have to pay is hefty enough so that survival on my own will be impossible. Which means that I have to either suffer through it...Or get a new job. And, clearly, to get a new job is the more practical choice. But it's at times like these that I'm confronted with my fear of change. I can concoct a million excuses to stay at a job that offers me little challenge and even less money: It's close to home, I love my boss, I love my customers, it's convenient, I know my job. But none of those excuses are going to pay my bills or feed me when I'm hungry.
I have been offered an amazing opportunity to leave Milford in exchange for Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. But I've chosen to pass it up. I love Milford; I love being close to my family, to the few very close friends that I have made while living here. And I don't like Florida. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't make enough money here to survive. Nor does it change the fact that Milford doesn't offer me the opportunity to meet many new people; especially that man I've been longing to meet. So even though I may not move out of this town, I must look for a job elsewhere and commute.
I feel burdened, but rootless. Stuck, but lost.
I know what I have to do: I have take a deep breath, muster my courage and step out of my comfort zone.
But I'm terrified.