Never a prizewinner, never a prize

We all love going home to our respective families at the crook of
holiday elbowing time. It seems funny to me that this whole country is
full of people who despise and detest their relatives, simply because
they exist in a totally different reality.

My reality came slamming into my head on Thursday, as my little sister
spoke with my neighbor friend about purchasing a new $17,000 vehicle, I
quickly realized that this was a show I could not compete with. I told
her, “S, you live in a totally different reality from me”. She
didn’t understand right away, as I tossed out the “I could never,
probably will never have the ability to even consider that venture”.
Responses to my discomfort at being considered sub-level in the “big
show”, you need to move back. Now, this is obviously something that has
been tossed out into the idea pool of how to get Deanna’s life moving.
I have a place to live, considering Francis has allowed me to take that
room in February because she slickly rented the room out only until
then to accommodate my schizophrenic lifestyle. My mother had
insinuated the you must come live at home, but I really don’t care to
do something like that. No sooner would I move into my parents house
than I would start planning the elaborate suicide that would result
from living with two three-headed geminis and my little sister, a
scorpio.

My parents have once again thrown out the, “you move back here and we
will help you statements”. I never learned how to manage money because
I was never taught how to, a mistake I pointed out to my mother while I
was visiting, noting that piggy banks, literally, were our only ways of
saving. I was 18 before I had my own bank account, of my own accord.
And because of the entrepreneurial spirit that’s in me, I have never thought
to worry about money because I always had
a way of making my own. Business ideas, babysitting, leaf raking, snow
shoveling, yard work, I always had businesses to sustain my life. It
was never the point of having lots of money, but being able to spend it
like I wanted to, given that I had no allowance after my sister and I
almost burned the kitchen down while trying to make donuts.

So here I am at the same crossroads I was at 10 years ago, with my
parents telling me that they would help me go to school if I moved back
home. This time back home is not literally back home,
but within the confines of that state. Now, we all know how much I
really hate Masshell, it’s true. But educationally speaking,
isn’t that the thing I need to figure out? Or even having access to the
brilliant minds of  Harvard might be a growth spawning adventure.

I took a career assessment test, something I have never done before, on
Thursday night, spurned by my mother’s insistence. I had been telling
her that I continued to change my mind over and over again. I told her
being a teacher had the appeal simply because you are helping people
and have the most amazing schedule possible. She and my sister were up
in arms at that one, telling me that teaching required organization,
which I lack, and a strong desire to help, which I have. They insisted
it was much much harder than I imagined, which is probably true. The
tests I took listed something creative and expressive, well duh, and
the other one suggested journalism and writing. No surprises there. But
for me, I guess I never realized the power that my own words can have
over things in my own life, and hopefully slide out to affect others.

The other positive about being there is just the sheer numbers of
friends I have, not limited to one or two true friends like I have
here, but several sprinkled out through the years, the most important
being Francis. I used to have a few friends that were vehemently
opposed to having me leave once they arrived in the golden burough of
Brooklyn, but they are no longer in my circle of friends, and I would
imagine the offer of “we will take care of you here if you get sick”
was like most friendships are, not unconditional, but conditional in
the fact that we do not respect each other equally it seems.

I feel like I need to consider this, simply because I have been very
much requesting change in my situation, but physically leaving New York
will be like removing a component part to my energy process. And the
fetus is here, and is someone I have grown to love and appreciate in
all of his subtleties. When I didn’t leave Mass the first time, it was
for a guy I thought I loved and would regale as the one. Now, I feel
like I am a bit more adult in my ways, and there is this implication
that I am once again running away from my problems, which was true back
in 1998 when I left. Leaving him here and not trying to work something
out would leave me with that treacherous question of “what if” that
might be one of the great mysteries of my life. And given the nice
swatch of men I have known in my life and not gotten along with, it
scares me to think that this person I get along with almost perfectly,
no fights, no hating, might be ripped away from my existence because of
steps I might need to take to fix things. Because along with the human
support that is there, the cost effectiveness of being in Boston over
New York is almost too much to ignore. My mother even suggested trying
to take a year to fix the finances and work on either coming back or
going south to save my circulation.

Egh. This is one of those decisions I don’t want to make for myself. If
I woke up next week with a job writing a column, or editing, then I
wouldn’t be able to leave because it would be the step in my purposed
direction. As it stands now, maybe I have been sitting around too long
waiting for shit to happen.

And New York is only a $15 bus ride away, it’s true.

I could make it almost every week if I wanted to.

Thanksgiving is lame, having made me feel inferior and unaccomplished, something that is probably very true.

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