Did we just become best friends?

 As I’m sure you know, I’ve had a bit of a problem of late. And that would be the lack of friends I have in the general vicinity of where I live.  The people I’m closest too are flung across the country (and world).  When the closest friend I had made after college moved from my Midwest locale to the eastern seaboard, I was left generally alone. 

It wasn’t too bad for a while.  I had a shit-ton of work to keep me busy for the first couple months, and then I was making and selling lots of jewelry, and then it was the holidays.  After that, spending time with family and going to YR events kept me occupied.  But it wasn’t the same.  I didn’t really have anyone that I would go see movies with or go shopping or drinking. 

I mean, other than my mom.  We saw Guardians of the Galaxy last weekend, and that was lovely.  But you know what I mean. 

Last night I went to a YR happy hour expecting it to be the usual outing.  Meet up with like-minded people.  Hope new, reasonable attractive guys wander in.  Act like I have some semblance of a social life. But last night was more like the happy hours I went to when my friend J lived here.  A happy hour that rolls into a nine-hour jaunt at three different bars.

I met two girls, actually my age, and after grabbing dinner at the initial HH location, we went to another bar in Soulard.  A couple strawberry ciders later, and I think it’s a grand idea for us to go to Ballpark Village downtown.  So the three of us cab it there and party it up. 

C generously offered B and I accommodations for the night at her apartment.  Which is lucky, because I didn’t need to drive the 45 minutes home after the festivities.

And I couldn’t help it.  As I settled on to her couch to catch 6 hours of sleep, I thought finally.  I’ve made some new friends.

I mean dancing it up until 3 am, watching C ride a mechanical bull, meeting a soccer player from Scotland, and making eyes at every cute guy on the dance floor, makes you friends, right?

Giving Up

Yesterday, I read an article that said that you chart the trajectory for your entire life in your twenties. Fuck. No one told me there was going to be such a rigid time limit!

One of the most sobering things about getting older is realizing you can't do everything. If I could live a million lifetimes I would become a rock star, be a visual artist, and go into computer science because holy shit do they make money.

About a month ago, I realized I hadn't written any new fiction in, well, mostly forever and half. This is coming over the worst dry spell of my entire life. A six month period where I wrote pretty much nothing. No new stories for the blog, no fiction, only ad copy for work.

I chose writing for my career not because it's the thing I'm best at, not because it was my "Marketable Skill", but because it was the thing I couldn't stand to give up.

But now it feels like that noise in my head which has driven me to create since I could first put a story together has become quieter, dulled by the 40 hour work week.

Also (and I am not complaining about this AT ALL), being in love takes work. Our six month anniversary is coming up and things are great between us, but he fills up nights that would otherwise be spent in coffee shops.

This summer is wrapping up with me realizing there are five things I want to do right now.They are:

1. Keep in touch with friends & family
2. Be in love with boyfriend
3. Stay in shape
4. Write like a demon
5. Work

I can't do them all. At least if I want to sleep. (And I do want to sleep.)

So what to give up? Can't be friends and family (obviously). Can't not make money. Need to work out. Want to be in love. So what remains?

A hard choice. Maybe one I can go back on, but for now I am letting go. It's a part of growing up. Time to put an end to a childish fantasy I've been entertaining for far too long. No tears now. Be brave.

I gave up working. At least, full-time.

Yup, as though you ever needed further proof that I am a capricious, obnoxious child unable to do things that every responsible adult everywhere does all the time, I'm giving up work. (Do you hate me yet?)

But, fuck it. I've got no kids, minimal debt(ish), and only one live to live so starting next week I'll be working just under 29 hours and making enough to at least ensure I don't end up homeless. I'll be doing some freelancing to fill in the gaps and throwing myself back into fiction writing with tremendous verve.

Let's face it, if I want to get published someday, I need to stop fucking around with this day job bullshit. Also, I don't give a flying fuck about folders. I said it, I SAID IT!

To (mis)quote a wise, somewhat fictional man, "There may come a day where I give up on writing. This is not that day."

I will be a writer until there is no blood left in my body. And yes, I'm sure I'll have my nose back at the grindstone before long.

Until then, I'm going to be young goddamnit.