June...and then I eventually lose my fucking mind

I had at one time planned a post about how much I love June. And I do love it. It's lovely, and springy, and it's my birthday month, and it's always full of busy-ness and fun exciting events. I even like the word "June". Or, name, if you will. In fact, I like it as a name name. Although I could never name a child June because it would be too June Cleaver-y. Maybe as a middle name. I love being a Gemini. I'm always proud to give my birthday, because I think it's a cool birthday. But probably everyone feels that way about their own birthday.

This is the first time ever in my life that I'm really having a hard time accepting that my birthday is here, that I'll be another year old. Normally I love birthdays, and not just for the parties and presents, but I think everyone deserves a day all to themselves, to be showered with attention and love.

But this year I will be turning 25. 25 is unquestionably an adult age. As I told my mother the other day, to her absolute horror, I judge the old-ness of age by how tragic it would be to read about the untimely death of a "__-year-old" in the newspaper. A 16 year old? Aww, that's sad, just a kid. A 22 year old? She had her whole life ahead of her! A 25-year old? Sorry, it's just not as sad. A 25-year-old is an adult. Has lived life, experienced things, been on road trips, seen some amazing concerts, had some good laughs, fallen in and out of love several times, maybe even gotten married and had kids. Not as much of a loss. Maybe it's just me, but when I read about a 25-and-up year old person dying, and they're not in a relationship, and have no kids, I just don't think it's as sad. Sure, they were somebody's son/daughter/brother/sister/etc, but at least they're not leaving anyone alone in the world. Whatever, I'm morbid, I plan people's eulogies, so maybe I'm the only one who's ever thought this. But you can't say there's no truth to it!

I never EVER would have pictured myself to be where I am now at the age of 25. My mother was married and already had one kid by the time she was 25. and while I certainly realize now that that is an unrealistic standard this day in age, and I am nowhere near ready or even wanting to be married at this point. However. I would have at the very least expected myself to be independent, self-sufficient, interesting, dating, hanging out with friends, working a grown-up job that I found mildly interesting. I am none of these things. The only thing I have accomplished since completing a college education that I will spend decades repaying thousands of dollars for, is getting my driver's license. A feat that most people accomplished at age sixteen.

I avoid small-talk with my coworkers, because they all have husbands wives girlfriends boyfriends kids nieces nephews cars social lives, and what am I going to say? "I spent the weekend planting flowers with my mom. That's how I spent last weekend too. I did go out to dinner with my parents, and we stopped on the way home to buy mulch, for more planting." What are my big birthday plans? I'm sure people will ask me this week. Going out to dinner. At Red Lobster. With my parents and my sister. I did the same thing for my tenth birthday. The only difference between then and now is that I have a worthless college degree, and a driver's license. And I will be drinking a giant Lobsterita.

I've given up for the most part on phone calls, emails, visits, etc, for much the same reason. I literally have nothing to contribute. I can talk about past memories, I can add my two cents on your current life/job/relationship anecdote, but I have nothing to add of my own. And maybe that sounds selfish, to cut off other people for my own reasons, but do you have any idea how much it sucks to be in my situation? It's demeaning. As bad as I may feel about my situation on a daily basis, it looks that much worse when compared to everyone else's. And I'm starting to become that person that's bitter about other people's happiness, and I WILL NOT LET MYSELF be that person. It's not even that I'm not happy for them, I am, but their happiness makes my sadness even sadder, and it makes it harder from me to make it out of the gloom to be happy for them. Selfish, again. Whatever.

I do not know how to say it in a way that people will understand: since I've moved back to Camden, I. Do. Nothing. I do not have friends here. Those of you who grew up here know there is nothing to do. I go to work, I come home, eat dinner with my parents, watch tv with my parents, go to bed, repeat.

I have a license, and as much as everyone was all over my ASS to get it, and how it would change my life for the better....guess what? As I always said, and as has proven to be true, if you don't have a car, you may as well not have a license, because it doesn't make a difference. You know what I use my driver's license for? Driving to the grocery store to buy italian bread and salad dressing for dinner. Sometimes I drive myself to work, which is basically just around the corner.

The reason I am having another bout of misery, that is just more of the same bitching, is I had yet another conversation with my mother about my life plan. So many innocent conversations trickle down to this: I am stuck in Camden. Indefinitely. I have no way out. I will never be able to get a better job than I have had, because a. the job market is garbage, b. a communications degree is worthless c. I have no experience in anything applicable to anything I'd ever want to do. d. I live in East Jesus Nowhere. e. I do not have a car to travel to an interview, or to drive to or from a job if I ever got it. Without "A Better Job", I cannot afford to leave Camden, because I would be back to not being able to afford rent or living expenses. And I would have no one to live with.

The worst part of the whole situation? Knowing I got myself into this mess. I made a bad decision. A decision I felt confident in at the time, tried to rationalize to everyone else, but ended up being the worst decision. I don't know how I ever could have stayed in Rochester, because I found myself all of a sudden with nowhere to live, no options, and little to no time to work things out. I could have stayed at my miserable job that I probably soon would have been fired from, because my boss was a nutjob. I wouldn't have gotten my driver's license. But I would have been HAPPY. I would have been with my friends. Going to trivia nights, staying in and being silly, eating brunch at Jay's Diner, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, playing Bananagrams. I love that life. I loved it at the time, and fully appreciated every moment. But when I found myself between a rock and a shitty place, i made the naive decision that I might actually be able to make a better life for myself, to be a real career woman. I'll never make that mistake again. Nothing is more important than being happy, being with people that love you. Even if you have no money. And you're miserable from 9-5. It beats being miserable 24/7.

And fuck all of you, really. It's so gratifying to have like 15 people tell me, "Oh, I read your blog all the time, I love it!", and yet week after week after week there's no fucking comments. Especially since you were all on my to start a blog in the first place. This is not a plea for pity comments now, but really, I don't have any fucking interaction with anyone under the age of 55 for a majority of my life now, I could use a fucking comment or two now and again. Yeah, I know, all I do is bitch about how much my fucking life sucks, and I'm sorry you're all so wonderfully busy with your blissful lives that you just can't pencil in a moment to leave me a hihowareya, but when I post a cute video of a fucking adorable kid and an otter racing, it's not going to kill you to comment on how adorable it is. Jesus.

I really want to say fuck a few more times, but I'm not allowed to say fuck in this house. Because I'm (basically) 25. And live with my parents. And have no friends. So I don't get to swear freely anymore.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, and then swallow the entire pipe and get hepatitis or something from it. Because I'm miserable and I want you all to have hepatitis and be miserable with me. Not that I have hepatitis. I just wish all of you did.

I've clearly lost my mind. Story of my life.