I shouldn’t be alone. 1987 keeps popping up in my life. Friday at work, the radio station was asking what we were doing at Christmas in 1987. Today, a character on a show was born on my birthday in 1987. It may not be any more mentions than any other date may be getting, but it stands out for me.
I hate 1987. I don’t hate the entire year, of course, just the last third of it. I hate the boyfriend that I had in 1987. I hate the stupid person that I was in 1987. I was so sure that I was on the right track. I had a boyfriend, I was in the military in England, I had friends and was having fun in between fights with the boyfriend. I was trying to fit into a mold that he made for me. Why didn’t I listen to my friends when they told me that he was wrong for me?
I have so many regrets. I feel like I haven’t done anything right, and all I have now is the dregs of what I could have had. I have a house and a yard, but they aren’t in the right place. I have a job but it’s a placeholder job that anyone could do. I don’t have any money. I don’t have a college degree. I don’t have anyone to call, to meet, to lean on.
I really do need a hug right now. I shouldn’t be alone, but I will be alone until I go to work in the morning. While I’m at work, I won’t really be with anyone. Sure, I’ll talk to people, laugh with people, and commiserate with people, but I won’t be with anyone.
How is it possible to be this lonely and still be alive? I’ve been trying to get through this time but it isn’t working very well. Do you want to know how I knew what was going on 25 years ago? I went to the fateful party 25 years ago, on September 11, 1987. On September 18, 1987, I found out about that rape. On my birthday in 1987, I turned 25. When I was planning my life, I was supposed to have graduated from college and be living in Columbus, Ohio programming computers and getting married and having a nice, suburban life by the time I was 25. Even after the rape it didn’t occur to me that I would never get married, that I would never have kids, that I would be sitting on my sofa writing the world’s most depressing blog post as I approach my 50th birthday. My birthday sucked in 1987 though my friends did try to make it festive for me. The military had put me on alcohol restrictions because I was drunk on that fateful night, so no champagne to celebrate. New Year’s Eve of that year sucked. I went to Cardiff in Wales with the boyfriend. He said that he knew of a good place to go where we could have fun. He took me to a nightclub full of his friends from the party. He was so clueless that he honestly didn’t know why I wouldn’t have fun there. After that was the court martials, then I came back to the States and tried to start over. Nothing really worked for me after that, and here I am today.
I wonder if things are really working for me now, or if I’ve just given up. Is that the secret to life? It doesn’t make sense, if it is. I think of people who were unrecognized while alive, like Beethoven and van Goth. They didn’t give up; though they were poor and living in garrets, they kept writing their music and painting their pictures. I don’t believe that I have given up. For one thing, I’m still alive. I think I have to decide if I want to go to school or if I want to save money for retirement. At the current interest rate I won’t earn too much on the money. However, I will have it instead of spending it on tuition. If I spend it on tuition I will have a degree, but will I get a job that will allow me to recoup that investment? I’m looking at $15,000 invested by the time I get done! Granted, at 1% per annum I’m not looking to be rich but, it’s $15,000 I have to recoup, that I could have saved. It’s going to take 18 months of saving my car payment to recoup what I’ve already spent and that’s not counting the fact that I could have saved that car payment and added it to that money if I had saved it instead of spending it on tuition! I’ll never make it back.
I guess I don’t have to decide tonight, do I. I don’t even have to decide tomorrow. But I do have to choose. I guess the first step is to talk to a financial advisor, and a career counselor to see if they think it’s feasible that I could get a better job in five years, when I am 55 years old. Looking around at the world today I’m thinking no.
Okay, I feel better having gotten this out. I’m going to post it, there having been several in the past few days that I’ve written and not posted, and see if you guys have any amazing insights for me. Slogging through daily life is amazingly dull. Measuring by increments smaller than the human mind can fathom, not realizing that you’ve progressed until you look back and see it. I know I’m in a better place than I was four years ago. I know that. I’m just sad that I’m not where I could have been. I need to work on making up for lost time.
And Puff just gave me a little puddy kiss on the arm, so all is right in the world.