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I'm at home, sober, blowing snot into a t-shirt every couple minutes, drinking iced tea for a living after having watched three consecutive episodes of "Freaks & Geeks" courtesy of Liz buying the DVD boxed set, listening to the party the girls upstairs are throwing, not one iota tired, not one iota listening to my own music, not one iota feeling good about what's going on.

I'm in a state of insufferable regression in my life.

This would be the time I'd start thinking about packing my shit up and moving on, but I'm perpetually saddled. By this fucking cloud of debt that sucks all the life right out of me. Every time I get myself a plan of action, every time I work out a budget and a timeline for release, I'm forced to move.

Do you know what it costs to move? It's a buttfuck. It's a first month's rent and a deposit equal to a first month's rent. And now, it's paying twice what I've grown accustomed to paying. And now, it's living with people I don't know, worrying if my meager possessions are going to get stolen or vandalized. It's scouring the fucking Internet, hard-up for someone to live with because in all my fucking time here I've managed to come up with exactly zero friends I didn't already have in some small capacity back in Seattle.

Instead of being free of debt with savings to spare by June 1st, it's being free of debt Who Knows When with savings to spare Never Bloody Likely.

I'm reminded of a time in my life very similar to this, though without the money issues. I'm reminded of my initial foray into the University of Washington life.

In high school, it didn't take me long to make the friends I'd keep for the subsequent four years. Happened sometime around 9th grade gym class. Jake and Chris and the Smith twins, Brian and Peter. I like to think we had a solid bond for those four years, but then it was time to graduate; time for all of us to go our own different ways. Chris stayed in Tacoma, I lost track of the Smith twins after a year (I know Brian was married and living in Portland the last time I talked to him; I heard Pete was going to school to be a priest or something), and Jake went to Western in Bellingham. That meant I was going to the UW all by myself for all intents and purposes. And that meant two years of solitude for the most part.

Think about a group of friends you have. When you get together, what ultimately happens? You reminisce about things you've all done together in the past. You refer to each other by nicknames only those In The Group would know. You talk about people you guys USED to hang out with and speculate about what they're up to right now. It's almost impossible to attach yourself to a group of friends who've already co-existed together for a number of months or years. Which is why, ever since those third and fourth years of college when I somehow stumbled into pretty much the greatest group of friends ever (4W4L, and don't you forget it!), any and all friends I've made have been individual, one-on-one friendships. They're easier to wrangle in and tie down. My problem with that is, when I find a new friend, I tend to gravitate towards just that one person, not really diversifying. Not really making myself available for anyone else. I've always had this attitude that, "I've got enough friends, piss off." But, that's not really the case. I don't think you can EVER have enough friends. Life would become too dull if that were the case.

Anyway, now I'm in that position all over again. With the bulk of my 4W4L friends spread out (granted, in and around the Pacific Northwest for the most part, but still), and with the prospect of my moving out on my own in New York away from the only three friends I've got here (again granted, it's not like everyone's moving to Fiji, Truman, get a grip), I'm in that position where I'll be living on my own, forced to fend for myself or starve. It's not necessarily the position I would've wanted for myself going into my 26th year of life.

When I think of my character traits, Patience doesn't jump out as a strong foundation post. I'm anal retentive that way. It's my one-track-mind persona all over again. Take eating for instance. If I'm involved in a meal with side orders and the like, I generally eat my food one thing at a time. Main dish, then one side order, then the other. Not necessarily in that order, but you get the drift. If I've got some menial task, something like data-entry either self-imposed or work-imposed, I can't just stop before I've finished (unless it's just a job too big to finish in one load). If I can SEE that light at the end of the tunnel, and I know it won't kill me to get there in one sitting, I'll fucking sit there and deprive myself of sanity until it's done. Because, once I start half-assing something - I know me - it won't ever get done. That's just the way I am. It's either all or nothing.

Well, that's the way I'm seeing this $5300 I still owe Visa. Before, I had a clear sightline to the finish. Live modestly, save aggressively, carry the two, and by June 1st I'm square, with a month to spare before I'm Washington State bound for a month. Well, living modestly kinda gets shunted away a little bit because I'll be paying extra rent and looking to lose a good chunk of savings on moving into a new place. I still have to go home for July because I want to see my family and friends, so that pushes my debt on into autumn. What was once looking to be a rosy, burden-free summer is now appearing to be a parole hearing denial. And, to top it all off, it's not like I'm guaranteed any work upon my return. I'm taking a month off from this job - which would've been fine if I was coming back to a clean debt slate - but considering I could probably see myself actually needing this steady paycheck, I don't see any way they're taking me back after that kind of layoff.

Which ultimately leads me to wonder about whether taking all of July off is really that good of an idea. Hey, I mean, if I didn't have the debt, I really wouldn't care if I quit this job and things were up in the air upon my return. I'd do Whatever. But, if my problems are still here, only more pronounced because I've just tacked on an extra month of not working and an extra month of free spending, then I'm right back where I was before I moved to New York in the first place, only one more year older and one less year wiser to the same stupid fucking mistakes I've allowed to plague my life in the name of Indulgence. Sooner or later, I have to start doing things that are Smart for me, which aren't necessarily the same things that I want to do. Remember, I'm the guy who quit a nighttime security guard job after a week of employment because I wanted to go camping with my family. And, here I am, three years later, facing the same exact scenario.

I've always told myself that I'm never leaving New York until I can get myself out of debt. Leaving meaning Moving Out of New York. Considering we've already established that Patience isn't my strong suit, one would have to realize that I'm not meant for a prolonged stay here. I want to get out here, live in other parts of the country, possibly even live abroad for a spell. I can't get tied down too much because I'm just too antsy by nature. And I will not be perpetually saddled by this ringing fucking weight around my wallet.

So, now I don't know about July; we'll have to wait and see. I can't, in good faith, fuck myself over for a third straight year.