Mr. Rilch and I are going back to Pittsburgh for 2 1/2 to 3 months, depending. We leave either Friday or Saturday. (Every time he calculates this, he comes up with a different departure time. But since he has to check in at a certain time, it’s no more flexible than sometime during that two-day period.) He will be working on a movie, and I will be helping his mom ready her house for sale*.
I do not want to do this.
I will do it.
But I’m not happy about it.
“Can’t you show a little more enthusiasm, Rilch?”
“…I just don’t want to do this.”
“You know what, Rilch? You can stay here. Just don’t be here when I get back.”
What does he want from me? I haven’t been passive-aggressive about this. I’ve been packing, bringing everything I need to approximate my comfort zone. I worked as many hours as I could before today, my last day, and I made inquiries about getting a similar job near MIL’s house. (Talked to my now-ex manager today, and she says that she talked to the people at the other store. I have to apply in person, but she said they think they can wedge me in.) I’ve made arrangements about financial stuff, and health insurance, and my prescription, and so forth. I haven’t been sandbagging, believe me.
But until today, I kept holding out hope that it wouldn’t happen. First he wasn’t sure he’d get the job. Then he did. Then he thought he couldn’t get the camper shell we need to haul all our stuff. Then he got a check he wasn’t expecting, and got the shell installed. Then someone else came on board and he thought he was out. (In which case we still would have gone, just to take care of the house, but left later and come back earlier.) Then his contact assured him he was good to go. Then he thought there was a problem with the union. Now that’s been resolved, and we’re going.
What really undid me, though, was today, my last day. I was presented with one of those gigantic cards, signed by everyone in my department, and some acquaintances in other departments. My god…I didn’t know people thought such good things about me. Then when I said I was only going away for three months, there were several responses along the lines of “Oh good! Then you can come back for the Christmas rush! We’ll need you!” So that’s added a layer of poignancy I wasn’t prepared for.
I don’t want to drive the truck: I’m afraid I’ll wreck us.
I don’t want to lose money by having a gap in my paychecks, and maybe even getting fewer hours or a lower salary or both, than I have here.
I don’t want to find out that I got a reply from an agent I sent a query letter to, and in the lag time it took for me to respond to the letter sent to this address or the call made to this number, they said “Screw her”.
I don’t want to be stuck in Upper St. Clair without a car. I don’t have a car here; it broke down. If I did, I might be waving goodbye to Mr. Rilch, and flying out to meet him two weeks later.
I don’t want to be offline for so long. Mr. Rilch is going to dismantle the computer tomorrow night, he says, and although we will have an internet hookup at MIL’s house (we have to, because we’re going to sell stuff on eBay), but who knows how long that will take?
And, laugh if you must, but I wanted to see the American Idol 3 tour. Yes, I’m still into John Stevens, and I really wanted to see him perform live. All the other Redheads are sharing swoony stories about seeing the concert and meeting him backstage. But the tour has already been in PA, and it won’t come to CA until after we leave. Yeah, I know, but as long as I’m listing everything…
I know that Mr. Rilch is right when he says my job wasn’t getting me anywhere. But leaving for three months isn’t going to help me get a better one. He’s also right when he says I need to wean myself off the net and meet more IRL people. But going to an isolated community where I don’t know anyone isn’t going to help that either. And he’s certainly right when he says I need to do something with my book. But flitting from one address to another and then back certainly isn’t going to help that.
I’ll go. I was never not going to go. But for god’s sake, don’t jump my shit for “sulking”. Don’t give me any more lectures about why this is necessary; I know it is. I’m just not beside myself with joy, that’s all.
*Keep your eyes peeled for a Pit thread on this subject a few weeks from now. Honestly, I love “Marge” to pieces, and she’s infinitely easier to get along with than my own mom. But she is just as much of a pack rat as my mom. It won’t be her that I Pit, but the situation. Because I know she will veto easily half the things Mr. Rilch and I want to discard, and she will be so sweetly stubborn, I’ll just have to vent here.