We all make bad decisions from time to time. It’s part of life and how we learn. Sometimes, things feel like the right decision and turn out to be wrong. This could be a small wrong such as ‘I thought I’d love this job, but it totally SUCKS.’ To a huge wrong that leads to financial ruin, calls to police or even death. Lots of bad decision are small. Even though we tend to blow them up out of proportion, they are all in all small. I once made the decision to move to Minnesota. I packed up my things and my kids and off we went. I had met a man who told me there loads of jobs there and we could much better there. He was right about the job situation and the cost of living. Jobs were numerous, I got a great job within two weeks of moving there, and the cost of living was much lower. What he left out was the fact he was an abusive, mean, lying, lazy SOB. My kids and I came out alright, but ended up living in Minnesota for the next 10 years. My daughter still lives there. I think she likes it more than she lets on. That was a bad decision, but it ended up having a lot of pluses. I did learn that I NEVER want to live in the Midwest ever again. Ever.
In my last post couple of posts, I have shared with you a little bit of the trial my best friend is going through. She also made what turned out to be a bad decision. She has learned from it and is moving forward.
I have made recently made a decision that seems to be a wrong one.
I live the Pacific Northwest. I was in the southern reaches where is it hot in summer and cool in winter (after Minnesota, 32 just isn’t all that cold). I was asked to move north by my sister. She lives (and now I live) almost as far north as you get in the Pacific Northwest. It is cooler here. Summer takes it takes getting here and flees faster. There is more rain, which makes it very green. This weather isn’t my cuppa o’ tea.
To top it off, the cost of living is much higher here. Jobs are more scarce. It took me three months to secure a decent job. I make less money here, with a full-time job, than I did at a part-time job. Rents are ridiculous. I am told the rental prices are set at tourists prices. WTF! This means because this is a tourist area, landlords charge $700 a month for a tiny studio apartment, often in a ratty building (not ratty as in rodents, ratty as in old and worn out).
I currently live with my sister. We are trying to make the best of a tiny cottage built for one. It is 615 sq feet. One bedroom with a walk-in closet. We have managed to split the closet space. It is a bit crowded in there, but it works. She has the bedroom (it is her house) and I have an air mattress up in the storage loft. This means I have no private space. No room with walls and a door where I can escape and be alone. I work, my sister does not. Because the closet is in the bedroom, I have to get my things ready the night before. I HATE this. We divided up the housework, but my sister is very casual about what clean is. I am not. No, I am not one who has to disinfect everything and scrub down walls every week, but I do like the dust bunnies and the dog hair banished from the floor, the rug vacuumed and the bathroom cleaned once a week. She doesn’t care if it’s done or not. And she not very good at following through with things. We cleaned out and re-arranged her room. It gave her more space and more light. In the process, we emptied out some of cardboard boxes. The empty boxes were stacked on the front porch. They sat there for two weeks before she broke them down. Now we have a pile of broken down cardboard boxes on the front porch. She still has not bundled them and walked them across to the recycle bin. They are sitting there along with the bundles destined for Goodwill. The Goodwill bundles are going on four weeks. Why don’t I just clear those things up? It would be easy. It wouldn’t take long. I could do it in 10 minutes. Bundle up the cardboard, load the Goodwill things into her car and be done with it. But I refuse to. I have been the one cleaning up, hauling things to storage, the recycle bin or the trash bin. I won’t clean up her messes any more.
Now understand, dear reader, I love my sister. I know she is dealing with a few demons, depression being one of them. She has been generous while I was job hunting. She has made progress in moving forward, away from hiding in the house all day. She is doing more. But she still won’t follow through and finish things, or keep her environment clean. I don’t think she even sees the piles in her bedroom and the clutter on the porch.
I can’t live like this.
I need my own space, my own privacy. I need a closet I have access to at 6:00 AM to get ready for work. I need to be able to iron my skirts, play my music loud and watch crappy TV programs at all hours.
But I don’t think I can afford an apartment. The cost of living will keep me right where I am.
My sisters world and my world have collided. My life has derailed. My sister’s may have too.