on being nearly spent, finished, over this whole “trying” thing

It’s nearly 3am, and I’ve no business writing anything much less what’s about to come out. But I feel it needs saying, if only because every time I say it out loud there seems to be a subsequent shift in the universe, as though the Internet somehow has a direct connection to my fate in the universe.

In any case. I’m increasingly tired of trying whatever it is I’ve been trying; I’m so exhausted I can’t even define it anymore. All I know is that it entails custody fights and working 18-hour days for paltry paychecks that never come on time (today marks three weeks of “it’ll be there today, I promise!” – but, nope!) and never having money to pay my rent/cell phone bill/storage payment/Internet/anything on time. It entails not eating enough food and not getting enough sleep and inadequate medical care and people complimenting me on weight loss that has 1,000% more to do with not having money for anything but the bare essentials than any sort of concentrated effort to get thin. It entails having been un- or underemployed for five years now and even though things have gotten better and I’ve made progress and I can see a teeny tiny light about 500 miles down the end of this tunnel I’m in, it might well be an optical illusion for all I know.

The best I can say is that my fan club, so to speak, has grown over the past five years and some not-unimportant people believe in me (passionately so). But I’m tired. Bone tired. And since I don’t have a Plan B – which seemed a brilliant way to prevent myself from taking the easy way out when this all began – the result is increased fear, anxiety, and gloom.

I know I’ll get through it. Sigh. I always do, which infuriates me. If only I could be the sort of person people had doubts about! Perhaps then I’d get sympathy job offers or magical unicorns visiting me in the middle of the night or whatever fragile people get when others fret about their coping abilities. Anyhow. I know I’ll get through it, but at this moment – filled with abject terror punctuated by sobbing – I barely can comprehend how I’ll manage the anxiety of the next 12 hours. I know it’s odd, having the certainty and the impossibility in my brain at the same time, but welcome to the stress of being 40 and not having a clue about what the hell is going on in your (my) life.

Being as it’s 3:18am now and I’m riled up enough and I’m due to meet a friend who’s taking me to lunch and an epic German WWII film at the Film Forum in a little less than nine hours, it’s time to stop whining. But now that it’s out there, perhaps the Internet universe will do its thing and a change will be set in motion. Or maybe not. Whatever. We all know I’ll be okay either way, no matter how pissed off it makes me that I’m missing out (presumably) on magical unicorns and what-have-you. I’ll survive.

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