I find myself wondering how much easier this situation would be if I had my grandma with me. For the first few years I lived in New York, she was 2 trains and a taxi away in Jersey City, with a full kitchen and open arms, and I took full advantage. I told myself (and my parents) that I was going there to spend time with her for her sake, but I know now it was really for me. She was there for me, better than any therapist, closer than my best friends.
When I never thought I'd get over the heartbreak of that one big relationship I left behind me in Illinois, she showed Mom's prom pictures, and we laughed at the hairstyles. She showed me old photos of her and Grandpa, and we'd just sit and miss him, subtly reminding me that I wasn't the only broken heart in the world. When I was screaming in disgust at the crappy "school" I went through, she spat in the air and cursed them right along with me. And when I just felt miserable, we'd catalog-shop together, and talk about all the nice places we'd like to go, all dressed up in imaginary finery. Sunday mornings I'd accompany her to St. Patrick's cathedral and feel peaceful and surrounded by love, with Our Holy Lady smiling down on us, a symbol of motherhood, and of comfort.
Last Friday I re-registered with my old temp agency. They gushed over me. My skills were high, they'd received a fat placement fee for me four years ago, they were thrilled to have me back. They were confident I'd be placed by Tuesday. Well, it's Thursday, no placement, and I just claimed another week of unemployment.
My roommate and I aren't speaking. I'm not really angry at her anymore. We just aren't a good match, and a couple of weeks ago, the powder keg exploded. Since then she's decided to hate me and never speak to me again, and I've accepted that I can't really change that, so I'm just trying to live around her. She's moving out in February, and, just like last year, I have to find a new roommate or lose my place. It was hell then, and I hope it won't be hell this time. I really don't need this extra layer of stress, but there it is.
I don't feel like calling my parents and listening to them sound helpless and worried on the other end of the phone. I don't feel like talking about this to anyone, really. I just want it over.
If Grandma were here, and healthy, if this were 1996, I'd be sitting in her kitchen eating leftover spaghetti with Ricotta cheese, and she would just sit there, watching me eat and cry, waiting until I was ready to look at catalogs.
I miss her so much.