I think the biggest thing is living here. I guess. My Senior year in college I had everything figured out. I was going to move in with my boyfriend in Austin, TX and probably have a crap job for a while, maybe take some more classes. We were going to go to Tulane to grad school because he loved New Orleans and I’d never been there and I trusted him completely, and we were going to start a magazine…somewhere in all of that.
Well… I started the magazine. That’s about it. We broke up … be kind, rewind. We started breaking up in March before I graduated, finally, officially broke up in September right after Hurricane Rita, when I asked how his family were doing and he told me his girlfriend was taking in refugees.
Blah blah blah if you followed the Facebook link to get here you know this already and if you didn’t you’ll probably hear the whole story before long. But this isn’t what this story is about.
This is about me. About not moving there, even though we were “on a break.” About waiting for him to invite me. About moving here and getting stranded. Living here was supposed to be temporary… Nearly six and a half years ago. That’s not temporary.
Just because I have to forgive myself for these mistakes and stop beating myself up over them, that doesn’t mean that I am going to stop trying to change the situation. I hate this place. And I have nothing real keeping me here, other than the parts of me that hold me back…yanno, the not driving part and the part where I can’t ever remember to pay my bills … Oy.