Complaining.docx, A Letter to Jessica

Dear Jessica,

I don’t remember what day it is. I can look at the date. I can remember that yesterday was the seventh and tomorrow will be the ninth. I know that yesterday ended at 12am and today will too. But the days of the week mean nothing to me. Weekends used to mean freedom. It was a time to enjoy being at home and to put off school assignments. It was time for seeing friends and watching too much TV.

Every day is a weekend now. And I'm not complaining. It’s just strange. Days don’t mean anything unless I’m making plans with other people. People who have schedules. Occasionally, I remind myself to remember what day it is because I have to be somewhere, sometime, someday. I've got plenty of time and no good way to spend it (and no money and plenty of ways to spend it, but that’s another story). Every day is a weekend. too much TV. Too much staying at home. But nowhere else to be.

I like my home. Which is good, since I rarely leave it. Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere else. I wish I could live in a bigger city where exciting things happen. I think about moving to a bigger apartment with more than one bedroom. I dream about living in a nice two-story house in a neighborhood where everyone is friendly. The house is a light blue with white trim and there's a porch with a porch swing and steps leading down into the front yard where a walkway leads to the sidewalk. We have a garage and tall trees and sizable backyard full of brightly colored flowers and big-leafed plants.

And then I wonder if I will ever be able to afford a house at all.

At this point I feel the need to pause these grand visions.

I cant stop thinking that whomever stumbles upon this blog and has the patience to read any of my posts (as of yet, it’s just you and me reading these lol) will point out how much of a whiny millennial I am. I mean, maybe I am. Other people have way worse problems than I do. So why should I complain about anything? But just because my problems aren’t as bad as someone else's doesn’t mean they aren’t problems. Everyone's dealing with their own crap, right? I'm not even sure who I'm defending myself to right now. So anyway…

I have no schedule for anything. I've become a recluse. I quit school because I couldn’t afford it, I quit my job because I was tired of taking care of someone else's kid and not getting paid enough for it, and I never made any friends after I left high school, so here I am. I stay at home and I take care of my disabled boyfriend. That’s my purpose. I drive him to appointments. I clean our home. I make the food. I do it all over again. That’s my job. That’s my life.

I've mentioned this to you before, Jessica, but here I go again. I feel like I’m always just waiting for something else to happen.

When I was a kid, I waited for Peter Pan to visit me and take me to Never Never Land. And then I waited for my letter to Hogwarts. I waited for Doctor Who to show up and whisk me away to a different time. I waited for adventure to find me. I had hope that adventure was out there waiting for me. I'm realizing more recently, that if I want adventure, I have to seek it out myself. But that brings us right back to money troubles. It’s a vicious cycle. Or a vicious circle? I can never remember the correct phrase. The point is, if you want to live a crazy adventurous lifestyle, you either have to be comfortable with living like a hobo, or you have to make sure you’re financially secure enough to live comfortably and still be able to adventure.

I'm always waiting for things to happen. I'm waiting for the next appointment I have to drive my boyfriend to. I waited 3 years for some form of information about whether my boyfriend would get a disability hearing. I've been waiting for 3 months to hear whether he has been approved (fucking, PLE A S E) or not. I'm waiting for us to have money so we can move the heck away from here. You get the idea. I'm not progressing in life. I think about that line from Tuck Everlasting where Angus Tuck says to Winnie, “What we Tucks have, you can’t call it livin’, we just are. We’re like rocks stuck on the side of the stream.”

“Do something about it,” my sister says. “It’s never too late to change your life.” But she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does. She’s changed her life many times. But I, seeing no clear path, fear having to cut my own through thick and intimidating forest. (*wow, so deep and metaphorical *) I used to have people telling me what to do and telling me what I should want from life but not giving me all the steps to get there unless I begged for answers. And now I'm older and I'm expected to decide things without help. And I!!! Don’t!!! Want to!!! I wish someone would show me the path to get where I want to be. I don’t want to be a leader I want to be led. I need to grow up, I guess lol.

I’m so glad i started a blog to whine, cause I'm definitely not doing that on the internet already. Oh, well. We’re here now. I feel like I might be speaking too vaguely, but I feel like if I just throw all the specifics of my drama out on the internet for anyone to read, I'll be too exposed, you know? That’s another post I'm going to go write…

This became more depressing than I had originally planned. WHOOPS.

TTFN,

Paige 💜