My Own Prison

Hole Lee Shit! So, I'm moving across the state for a job. It's in a city I've been to all of once and that was for the interview. Why am I going here again? Oh yeah because I'm broke and can't say no, and because of a girl. Yeah, chasing a girl was foolish. But if chasing her lead me to this awesome job, then I can accept that the outcome fate had planned for me. At least I didn't wind up in the same city as her, just a nearby suburb, so I'm not a total idiot. Do I really even have a choice here? I'm days away from having the electric shut off ... I have no other job prospects. So, No I don't ... I don't think so.

I got the job offer on Thursday, I'm to start on Tuesday. I have four days to figure out how to move across the state, where to live, what to do with the house, what to pack until I figure that all out and I got about $200 to do all this. Oh ... and I got the kids over the three day Presidents' day weekend leaving me one solid day to figure it out.

Let's start with a place to stay ... Do I even know anyone who lives in this city? I post that question to Facebook and the only response is some guy I'm not even sure I've ever had a conversation with but know, sort of, from a website we both frequented. He and his wife have a spare bedroom I can crash in for an unspecified amount of time. I have no better offers or any other offers. I pack a suitcase and other assorted things I might need.

My plan, if you can call it that, work during the week, live at my house on weekends to spend time with the kids and to pack up. I inform the ex-wife, like it or not, I'm not making another payment on the house. We can sell it, or the bank can take it. She agrees to the plan of selling it. The house is a disaster but I work with the Realtor to get it up for sale. It's up for (short) sale all of two days before we get an offer. We have to deal with the whole bank paperwork, but getting an offer was surprisingly easy.

I chris cross the state weekly. Home, work, home, work. I love the job. The pay is good and I find a cute little garden apartment to call my own. It takes a month to save up enough to make the deposit plus first month's rent. I pack up the house in a single weekend, the ex-wife takes anything she wants, which I've been telling her to do since she left, but for some reason she's refused to do despite having two years to do it. I sell other things I won't need or don't have room for, moving from a three bedroom house with a basement, two car garage and barn on an acre and a half, to a two bedroom apartment. Which is a lot of damn stuff. I will have more money this way too, to last until the first paycheck. Half of everything I own, gone, in two weeks. It's traumatic and liberating at the same time.

The U-Haul is packed. Off I go to my new life. But not before I have a complete emotional break down because Oh-My-God-This-Is-Happening-Fast-And-I-Haven't-Really-Had-A-Chance-To-Think-About-What-I'm-Doing-Only-Do-It.  

But still ... this was the house my kids were born in. There's the drawing my girl made on the wall with her crayons. Over there by the kool-aid stain on the carpet is where my boy took his first steps. Over there in the kitchen about three quarters of the way between the sink and the fridge, that's where I was standing when the Librarian kissed me for the first time. On the other hand over there by the front door is where the ex-wife and I fought, over there by the bathroom door is where we fought that other time, and over there was another fight, and over there, and over there, also over there, there and there. Now the house is empty, it looks like how I've spent most of the past few years feeling.

One month into my new life, and I have a place to live and a healthy paycheck. That's the start to everything I've been wanting and working for, right? The biggest downside to all this is my kids are now two hours away. I didn't think this would be a big deal because every time my ex moved, we'd meet halfway to exchange the offspring. Now that I'm the one who moved, I'm met with the excuse "They're your kids, if you wanna see them you come get them." I have to take them back too because if I don't, I'm threatened with kidnapping charges. 

I figure I'll tough out the eight hours on the road every other weekend for a few months till I can save up and end this marriage officially and legally, and have a judge tell her she has to meet me halfway. It's been two years. I want it done and over with and not to have to deal with her crazy anymore ... or as little as I can while still being involved in my children's lives.

I'm happy. My life is finally back on track, after I thought it was permanently derailed. Everything I've been working, battling for I have or is within reach. It's like I'd been trying to breathe with someone standing on my chest.

Work is good but it's uneasy. I'm paranoid. I've become so used to being unemployed that steady work is freaking me out. There's no criticism of my work, but every bit of indifference by co-workers make me feel like any day could be my last day. During my many job hunts I read anything and everything I could about how to find a job, the economy and anything else I can get my grubby little hands on employment related. 

One article comes to mind about the long term unemployed are having a hard time reintegrating in to the workforce again, social anxieties, paranoia and adjustment issues. It likens returning to the workforce after long term unemployment to be like a convict reentering society after imprisonment. Think of that old convict in Shawshank. Yeah, That sounds like me, only my prison was my big empty house.

So, I suck it up. I go to work everyday with a smile on my face and pretend like nothing is wrong, because odds are, nothing is wrong. No one's saying I'm doing anything wrong.  I go in early and stay late. I volunteer to take up extra work. I shove down the anxiety. I remember another article stating most firings and layoffs happen on Fridays at the end of the day. So Monday is fairly stress free with each day of the week getting more stressful. Friday feels like a heart attack waiting to happen. I decide it must be me. It's always me, always in my head.

The next week Monday is my boy's birthday. It's also one month to the day since I moved into my apartment. Having blown off all the stress over the weekend I'm relaxed and can't wait for the day to be over with so I can call him and tell him Happy Birthday. 

At 1:30pm my boss walks in and tells me "We're going to have to lay you off." That's it. No warm up. No flowery language. No compassion. Nothing. He goes on to tell me they decided to part ways with particular client, which results in a lost in work. Last in, first out. How do you quit working for a client, who pays you to do thier work? 1:30pm on a Monday. Not just any Monday, my son's 3rd birthday and exactly one month into a year long lease on an apartment in a city I don't know anyone in. They knew all this too, and didn't seem to have the slightest bit of empathy for me.

What the fuck just happened?!?

This is my life now.