WE'RE ONE MONTH INTO THE YEAR.

I had meant to restart this blog in January after being off track for about a year. This was supposed to be about the foreclosure, my "exile" and either my triumphant return to the city or serene acceptance of life in suburbia. Neither has happened. I hate it here and can't wait to move back  to the city.

One of my co-workers died during the move, another died about seven months later, leaving me with more work. And I went back to school in an attempt to increase my income so I won't have to live in a basement the rest of my life. Instead I ended up working literally seven days a week and was too tired to even LOOK at job placement ads. My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer on December 6, 2017 and got through the radiation well but has been hospitalized numerous times with other things. I am one of few people who's happy  to get a  robocall because isn't from Life Alert, a doctor or Mom's neighbour whom I hate dealing with. Then I ended up getting sick partly as a result of the stress, partly just from burning my candle at both ends for years. 

Now I spend most of the money from the extra work I'm doing on transportation from one job to the other or going to school and on fast food because you don't crave salads when you're stressed and depressed and they don't give you the energy you need to get through a 15 to 19 hour day. 

Kind of like what the late Gilda Radner wrote in her book It's Always Something: "I started out to write a book called A Portrait of the Artist as a Housewife. I wanted to write a collection of stories, poems and vignettes about things like my toaster oven and my relationships with plumbers, mailmen and delivery people. But life dealt me a much more complicated story..."

urbanexile@mail.com