A Startling Confession

I was out of bed- or awake, anyway, as I am pretty much confined to my bedroom and there isn't anything there to sit on besides my bed- by noon today. And I paid most of my bills. So far, it is a good day.

That, right there, is the problem. And so, on this day, the second day of the year of our lord (I, personally, think the year belongs to everyone, but that's the commonly accepted formality) two thousand nine, am making a startling confession: I am a loser.

If you know me only casually, you won't believe me. I fake it well. If you know me well, you won't want to believe me. I'm too kind to be a loser. But since you're most likely a stranger, I think you'll take my word for it.

I know I am a loser because it shouldn't be a celebration-worthy event to pay your bills or get out of bed. Especially if you get out of bed at noon and pay your bills with your father's money. There are a thousand ways in which I am a loser. Here is a brief list:

1. I live in a mobile home. (Ie., I am trailer trash.) It's a nice trailer and the others around it are nice, too, and it is really in no way different from any other manufactured home, but still... I live in a trailer.

2. My father lives with me. I realize this isn't the same as living with my father, but it still does not do much for me. Hard to believe people accept you as an adult when you explain to them that you aren't allowed to have friends over because your father said so... or because he is sitting on your couch in his dirty underwear.

3. I do not make enough money to survive on. I could, but I don't. I used to. Then I took several months off of work to get Barack Obama (and a bunch of other people) elected. At the same time, I was taking care of my decrepit father and trying to exist in a house that is filled with the scent of urine from his diabetes-spinal-problem-induced lack of bladder control and with piles and piles and bags and boxes and piles of junk that he brought with him when he came to stay and is now using to make my living room into a foxhole. Gets a little depressing at times, which makes it hard to sleep and then makes it hard to get up when the phone rings at five a.m. and a cheery electronic voice asks me if I would like to accept a substitute teaching job for the day. And the economy is bad, so parents can't afford tutors for their children. And I lack confidence, so I never send my writing anywhere. There are a million reasons why I don't make enough money to survive. At least with my dad living with me, I get to use his. It's a symbiotic relationship, of sorts. Not a healthy one.

4. My house smells like urine. (See #3 above.)

5. I have not been on a real date in roughly 30 years, 6 months, 12 days, and 19 hours. Not that I'm counting. And yes, that is exactly how long ago I was born.

6. I hang out with the students, not the other teachers. I don't mean to. It's just that I forged a few solid friendships, and the other half of one of those friendships is a man who has a rock star persona and some minor delusions of grandeur. He found some people who are willing to look up to him as if he is the figurative rock star he wishes he could be. They are all in the 17-23 age range. I am 30. Age is not an issue with me, at all. I have friends that are 8 and I have friends that are 80. It's just that when we go out for the night and are joined by a gaggle of barely post-teenage girls, we do the things that post-teenage girls do, not the things that adults do. It's hard to break away and be an adult. (And I have to admit, while I'm not a big fan of the gaggle, the students in general are more fun than the teachers.)

7. I do not sleep at night. I do not wake up in the morning. Instead, I go to bed in the morning and get up in the afternoon. That is not something winners usually do. I can, on occasion, wake up in the morning, if I have a reason to do so. It isn't THAT bad. I don't shirk responsibility. But when responsibility has shirked me for the day and I have nothing pressing to do, I can barely pull myself out of bed by noon.

I could go on, but I'm tired of downtalking myself- just as tired of it as you are, probably. So I am publicly setting some goals. Maybe fear of humiliation will make me stick with them.

Goal 1:
I will completely clear out my home office and explain to my father that if he is going to continue to stay with me rather than going to the home that is waiting empty for him, he will need to use a use a bedroom as his foxhole so that I have the use of my house.

Goal 2:
I will accept whatever teaching jobs I am given, even if I haven't yet slept and cannot stop crying. High schoolers are experts in drama and will accept without question that it is allergies making my eyes tear up because they told the same lie a hundred times themselves, and after a few nights without sleep, maybe I will punish myself into sleeping at night like a normal, functional adult.

Goal 3:
I will attempt to publish something, somewhere, for money. I know I'm good enough. I know I can. I'm afraid to, because I'm afraid I will prove myself wrong, but it's time to get over myself and try.

These are not New Year's resolutions. I don't believe in them because you only think about them on New Year's Eve and then generally forget about them. These are life resolutions, because in order to preserve my life, I need to follow them. I will not be a loser anymore.

Well, okay, I might, because it's kinda fun sometimes. But I'll only be a loser when I choose to.