Lesson #226: It's Hard To Be Human
KC Writers Workshop
So, I got my apartment.
I got the one I was so scared I wouldn’t get. The one in the woods with the skylight and the pool. I somehow magically worked the system. Got two friends to vouch for me and fill in the hours and salaries I’d need to make the income they were checking on when the screening company called. I got the apartment. It’s something I never thought I’d be able to do on my own. Get approved. Be able to pay rent. I was elated. It’s just that the only thing is that it’s a smoking facility. Like they allow people to smoke inside the units. So I walked in to see a sample on Monday, and it hit me in the face, and I wondered whether I’d be able to justify my kids living there. Would they get cancer? What would people think? When I invited them over? Would they leave and say, “That poor girl couldn’t even afford a decent flat. Those poor kids living in squalor. “
I saw a bunch of old people that lived there. One lady asked if I was going to be her neighbor. And when the lady showing me the place was taking a call, she winked and pointed to the bowl of cat food in the corner on her third-floor balcony and whispered, “I feed the strays.” I thought she was sweet. Even through the smoke smell.
I’m going to see another one tomorrow. A newer one with less character. It has a pool and clean walls but not a skylight. And not in the woods. I’m scared because I don’t know what to do. And I’m still learning the art of trusting myself. Even through the smoke.
I’m tired. My life has exploded. I’m doing this challenge with my gym, where we add 800 grams of fruit and vegetables to our diet every day. I’m cooking and planning and eating like a fucking champ. I’m putting on weight and it's insufferably uncomfortable for me. A person used to being gaunt. Who had hoped to be for life. But I’m doing it.
I’ve got an art market on Saturday. I don’t even feel like an artist right now. But someone asked me, and I have stock, and it would help my cause to hustle a bit. So I’m doing it.
I’m substitute teaching at my kids' school. The kids love me and just want to be all over me. Aunt Rosie. It’s hard, and I don’t want to do it forever, but it’s nice to feel loved. And out of my basement, where I spent the last six months.
I don’t know what will happen but I know things are. I know the green lights make runner bean stripes down the hilly streets of north Kansas City in the rain on a Tuesday night. and my girls and I marvel at them. I know the leaves are turning. Ochre bursts beneath magenta, blooming into red. And it's time for a new season to break free. It’s time. It’s finally time.
