Last fall was terrible.  I got hired for two jobs only to have the offers rescinded.  Lexapro had stopped working for me and they put me on Prozac which made me have psychotic episodes.  It felt very much like my house of cards was going to fall down.  On top of all that, I was broke.  Really broke, and so I decided to not pay my car insurance for a couple of months.  It seemed a better option than to ask my parents for money.

What I didn't know is that in New York State if you go without insurance they revoke your registration and don't renew it even when, sixty four days later, you get a new insurance policy.  Also, they fine you eight dollars for each day you are without insurance.  If you're not fast with the math let me tell you, those sixty four days of no insurance equal $512. 

Add on to that all the tickets I kept getting for not being properly registered and we have a magnificent disaster. 
Today I emptied the last of my savings and paid $210 to get my license back.  I'll be looking at another three to five hundred dollars in tickets and fines.  Those eighty dollars I didn't want to ask my parents for, have turned into over one thousand dollars.  Holy fuck did I screw up.

I feel like I am not a very good adult.  Even when I do have money in the bank, I sometimes forget to pay my bills.  I've made a concerted effort this year to stay on top of things and it's mostly worked out.  Actually, I've done such a good job that for the first time in years I was able to get a credit card.  I've been devouring articles on how to rebuild credit.  I read articles on "things you should never charge".  I'm really serious about this which is why yesterday stung.  It was a reminder of how much MORE work I have to do to feel like a competent adult.

I'm taking it one step at a time.  My parents are going to loan me what they can.  I'll dig myself out of this hole, I just don't want to let things get out of control again.  It's going to mean swallowing some of my pride for the next few years as I work on my Master's Degree. 

Pride is such a stupid thing.

I started seeing a career counselor because two years out of school, I am making $8.50 an hour with no real prospects on the horizon.  I needed someone to help me focus and keep me motivated.  Things were going well.  I built a decent resume and started to see some possibilities and stopped saying "Oh, I can't do that because when I have an episode people won't be able to rely on me or my behavior will become disruptive."  I started moving, slowly, but I was moving.

The last time I went to see the career counselor, a month ago, we were making small talk about my knee. It's injured (again) and I am anxious to get back on skates.

"So how long do you think you'll be out?" He asked.

"Well, I went to the doctor and he laughed when I asked about skating in November's bout."

"Yeah, but you're tough," he said.

"Well I'm tough but I'm also..."

"Beautiful," he said.

"not stupid," I said and gave him the look of death.

He laughed the way men do when they realize they had only imagined she was flirting.  "That should be your business card, 'Tough, Beautiful and Not Stupid.'"

I laugh too, but I can't ever go back to him. Tonight, instead of getting the guidance and support I need, I'm struggling through a personal statement for an application I should have sent out already.  It makes me want to gain fifty pounds.

We are sitting at Mark's kitchen table drinking Pale Ale.  I am flipping three pennies while he records the results.  It seems like an endless loop of penny flipping, but it is only six times. 

"Really?" I ask, "you can go for that."

"Yeah, you know, it's Asian."

"Oh, so it gets a pass on being stupid?"  I snark.

He shrugs but something is different tonight.  He doesn't throw anything back at me.

"It's cool.  I'm just surprised.  Maybe I should break out my tarot cards sometime," I offer.

Leafing through the blue book, he finds my hexagram.  Something like: Wonderful at first devolving into chaos.  I snicker and roll my eyes.  "Ain't that how it always goes." 

On the inside of the back cover I see little notes and dates.  There's one when we first met.  There's one a few months in, when we were still circling each other--pent up and distrusting.  There are several that he has labeled "the usual".

"There's a 'usual' question?" I ask.

"Yeah.  I mean there was," he looks me in the eyes for our movie moment.  I feel so ashamed by my vulnerable human feelings but I make myself look.  I know what he is saying.

Saturday, laying flushed and exhausted in bed, I decide to let the damn break.  "It's not a promise or a guarantee, but I love you very much," I say and shove my head into his side.

I expect him to say nothing.  I expect him to pull me close or kiss the top of my head.  I do not expect him, as naked as he is, to expose himself.  I'm not even sure I want him to say it when maybe thirty seconds later he very simply, very honestly says, "I love you, too."

I try not to move.  I don't want to shake or cry.  I don't want to reveal how unsure I was of him, or myself.  I just want to enjoy the way those words sound.  Maybe two minutes later I allow myself to squeeze him and we don't say anything else to each other as we drift off to sleep.

So now we know where we stand.