I’ve failed at being an adult. I failed hard.
I do have achievements and whatnot under my belt, but I really failed where it matters the most. Financially, romantically, career-wise. I failed to thrive so bad in this arena, that I had to pack up my apartment and cats (note: crazy cat lady alert) and move from my home in the Neon Sandbox – Vegas, bitches – to the extreme RIGHT coast, Melbourne, Florida – which feels like a very bad episode of Jerry Springer. I am now living in a room at my dad’s house and working a shit job that is so far beneath me.
Needless to say, under these circumstances I have fallen into a deep, dark slum. I miss my crazy, beautiful life. The glitter, the eyeliner, the drugs, the sex, the complimentary cocktails, my friends, and getting home well after the sun has come up. I miss the buzz of being in a casino, the smells, the sounds, the electricity of it all. Going from a life of constant distraction to a humble place, I have nothing, but time to think about my life, the past, the present, and the future.
This morning, I had a full on hissy fit. Tears, frantic calls, and luckily, two friends, who talked sense into my irrational, un-coiffed head. (There will be a rant on humidity, just wait.) I am panicking and freaking out that I am trapped in Florida and that I will be stuck here forever and that my current shit job is forever. It’s not, I just can’t see past my last month. It hurts how much I miss my former life. I am miserable here. I am friendless. There isn’t anything familiar or awesome happening to me. I’m scared. I am sure I am not alone in this.
I’ve always wanted to write and I’ve been told I am a pretty decent writer. So with all of this time and all of this “loneliness,” I’ve decided to put my fingers to the keyboard and gather some sort of accomplishment and write.
So, what’s with 2900 hours of Sunshine? Wikipedia states, “Melbourne averages 2900 hours of sunshine annually.” My life may seem like Eeyore came and took a big, fat shit on it, but even that depressed sack sees the sun every now and then. I need to channel my frustrations, my hopes, my fears, the highs and the lows, into something, and well, here I am. (In case you were wondering, Vegas gets “an average of about 300 sunny days per year with more than 3,800 hours of sunshine.”) I’m letting y’all inside this pretty little head.
Welcome to my messy life through my messy words. Now, the adventure has shifted from “fun” to “functional.” I am scared shitless. Everything in front of me is a giant QUESTION MARK. I have no choice, but to stay strong, admire my collection of cocktail dresses, and glue the piece of of my fractured life together; I can use glitter glue, yes?