Residuals after the mess

I’m wishing I could apply for medical schools right now.  But seeing how I’m in bio 101, that’s not going to happen for a while.  So I’ve been talking out options to get there faster.  And in the back of my mind I keep thinking about how much easier it would be to make a decision if I had just stayed with ex-boy and we moved in together as we had planned.  He would have supported me, rent would be cheaper, I wouldn’t always have to agonize about only having hummus in the fridge b/c he bakes up some mean tofu.  And I can’t figure out exactly why I made the decisions I did.  Because he would take vacation time at the drop of a hat to go home with me if I needed that support.  And that’s vacation time to go to Louisiana.  And not New Orleans, but Lafayette.  There isn’t much for the tourist to do in Lafayette.  Except maybe eat boudin, and he doesn’t eat meat so that’s no fun. 

He let me be mean to him, he let me make mistakes, and he didn’t let me beat myself up over making those mistakes.  But the one decision he can’t help me through is the why of not wanting to get back together with him anytime soon.  He isn’t asking me to and he isn’t doing favors for me with hopes of that happening.  And he’s still around. 

So the joke is I will potentially be drowning in debt from the loans I am considering taking to pay rent and go to school, when prior to my decisions this past August I could be ready to enroll in school full time this January and have unconditional support to come home to every evening.  So we laugh about it, and I always cringe a little too.  But economy is the last reason to move in with someone.  Even though it’s often the first thing that comes to mind. 

My nephew was spiderman for Halloween.  And he has the infamous Clarke head – it’s huge.  He stretches out all the necks of his tee-shirts.  So when he put on the spiderman mask it got stuck on his face and the eye holes were somewhere in his hair while the bottom of the mask covered his eyes – and he stuck his arms out and waved them around shouting “I’m spiderman!”  Every time I think of what’s going to happen within the next year, I feel exactly like that – walking around like a blind fool convinced I’m something I’m not.  My nephew is 3, he’s supposed to believe he’s spiderman when the mask doesn’t even fit.  But at 26 it doesn’t seem so right. 

And if Jack doesn’t get rid of this god-awful rotten-egg puppy gas before bed, he’s going to be spending the night in the kitchen.  He doesn’t even get table scraps, what’s the deal?

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