Last month I made the decision to leave my job and go home to finish cleaning out my mom’s house and settle the affairs of her will. Over the course of a month I stayed in Midland, TX, and upon my return to Austin, TX this past week I realized the house wasn’t the only thing to undergo changes.
I Gained Weight: This is a trivial matter to discuss, but being home and eating nothing but takeout while doing little more than cleaning had the unsurprising effect of adding some pounds to a body already possessing more than its necessary share. Before I went back I had these fantasies of working out every day, continuing the progress I’d made on my 2019 resolution to get Brooks Koepka jacked, but, when I found out the franchised gym I’d become a member of didn’t have a location in Midland I opted to languish in self pity instead of finding a temporary place to workout. Unfortunately, the consequences showed, and I returned to Austin positively husky.
My Temper Got Shorter: I don’t think I’m over this one yet. Earlier this afternoon I was out with my capital R roommate grabbing a happy hour beer and I very nearly snapped at the server over injustices only slightly more inconvenient than the equivalent of sitting at a table and realizing the salt shaker is empty. I also proceeded to spend much of the night slogging through the sewer tunnels of Twitter fighting over whether Matt Kuchar is a shitty tipper. But long before any of that, when I was still back home spending my days alternating between half assed cleaning the house and three quarter assed applying for jobs I was also honking at any driver who dared exist in front of my windshield, flipping more birds than a KFC fry cook, and generally bitching to anyone with an ear or a phone. I’m getting calmer by the day, but I’m still too pissy.
I Became A Recluse: Much like my fitness aspirations, I had grand delusions of the amount of socializing I’d be engaging in whilst home. I pictured myself seeing all the family and friends (friend) I’d missed out on over the preceding months, making up for lost time with the creation of memories to cherish upon my return, really feeling like I’d contributed my membership of the family after isolating myself for the last several (ten) years. I did none of that. I saw my closest relatives maybe three times, my best (only) friend who lives back home about a dozen, and spent the rest of the time guiltily agonizing over not seeing everyone more but not shaming myself too much as to actually do something about it. I don’t know why. Maybe the permeating sadness of the house kept me from being able to engage socially, but whatever the case I feel awful and truly regret not seeing everyone more.
I Spent: There’s nothing like spending as if you have money to make you forget you have none. While I didn’t do anything crazy like cop some new kicks or tool around dealerships, I definitely indulged in upsizing a drink from chicken fil a when given the chance as well as snagging a post house cleaning brew basically as often as I pleased. Like my ignoring of my family I feel terrible about this too, and rack myself over the money I wasted while I was home when my unemployed ass should have been living off white bread and bologna. I just hope I get hired soon enough to negate my recklessness.
I Thought, Too Much: Going home always puts me in a reflective mood. I entertain what ifs and imagine the various paths my life could have taken, or, I drive around and let all the ghosts of my hometown sit in the car with me while I reminisce simpler times. I overdid it this time. When I drove around I didn’t reminisce, I longed to go back, to return to a time when I wasn’t a near 30 professional failure struggling to comprehend his mother’s untimely passing sufficiently enough to be able to survive each day. I anguished over decisions, laboring whether I’d made the right choices, and worried myself into pure anxiety about my future and whether I’d be able to prevent myself from producing my own downfall. I played out scenario after scenario, always choosing the most pessimistic outcome until I’d convinced myself destruction was my only option. I overthought each day, my whole life, and every aspect of it, and there weren’t enough apps in the world to distract me from the depths of my subconscious.
There’s more that happened. I’ll probably touch on it at some point later, both because people barely read my posts when they’re less than a thousand words, there’s no way in hell they’re going to click them if they’re on the north side of two or three thousand and because I want to really digest everything that happened over the past month and the effect it had on my life. In the meantime all I can do is take what I’ve listed here, parse out the consequences I need to keep from the ones it’s time to let go of, and try to keep moving forward.
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