Although the roommate hasn’t moved out yet, we are studiously ignoring each other’s presence. I’m so over it. I can’t wait to have my space back completely for sewing and reading and writing and editing. As it is, I’ve embarked on these things with a new fervor.
I don’t know if I could handle another roommate. I’ve realized my error with this one. If I live with someone again, it has to be someone who truly gets and empathizes with the NoMo experience. It can’t be someone who is going to judge me or who views me as a patsy.
Sometimes I can’t believe I left L.A.– just as I was about to meet my favorite living author– for this situation. Talk about not worth it! As far as my former work organization goes, I’m starting to think that perhaps I don’t care so much about being a part of a club that would have him as a member.
If I do manage to finagle a job with them (or anyone), I will stay for reasons I’ve written about before. Financial reasons. Being closer to my family– my mother is almost eighty and it’s not unrealistic to think she might only have a decade left and that flying to California will become too difficult for her. Ease of life. Better health.
L.A. is uber-stress. And (even more) loneliness. And a possible earthquake in which I’d be left to fend for myself.
It is, admittedly, dynamic and exciting. There could be worse things than having to go back (that is, if I could survive the move).
At this current moment, my actual friends in both cities are about the same in number and intensity. But L.A. has that extra layer I’ve written about before– that layer of imaginary friends who are doing great things. I miss that motivation, but I won’t move back for it unless I have to.