This morning, my landlord posted a notice on our door stating that if we didn’t pay rent by the 14th, we had 72 hours to vacate our duplex. I sent the money order via certified mail on June 30th and being incredibly stupid, I recycled the receipts a week ago. I figured it was delivered, and that I take ownership for. That was completely my fault. Because I couldn’t find the receipts in our recycling, I began to panic. Wes and I work really hard, and it has taken us so long to build up our savings. I felt terrible. I went to the post office, and they couldn’t locate the mail (thank you, John, for being so incredibly helpful). I then paid for another money order and sniffled my way upstairs to my cube.
My co-worker saw me walking down the hall, and we went into an empty office. I told her what happened, and she said, “Look at it this way. You had the foresight to save money in the event something like this happened. At your age, I wasn’t even thinking about that. You’re going to find the receipts in recycling and in the future you’ll save receipts so this doesn’t happen again. Lesson learned. You’re still doing great.” When I finally got to my desk, I started looking through recycling and after ten minutes of searching, I found it. It turns out money order was routed through Los Angeles, and it should be there by Monday. My landlord hasn’t responded to my e-mail or my text, but I’ve always had an odd relationship with her.
Lesson learned. Keep receipts no matter what.
Shout out to Wes for being super supportive while I was freaking out.
After lunch, my co-worker stopped by my desk, and somehow we started talking about weight and shared battle stories about being fat as a kid. When I was little my grandmother used to feed me a ton of food and then berate me for being so fat. That memory pops up sometimes, but I never really made that connection to adulthood until now. What have I done to myself for years? I binge and then I berate myself for being fat. I have repeated this process for years, long after my grandmother moved away. I feel like I have to carry all the pain I received as a kid, and that feeling never stopped. Even as I try to lose weight, I feel like I don’t deserve this. I hear my mom telling me I’m too ugly to be loved and Lord have mercy on this sad body. I hear my dad tell me I won’t find a job because someone skinnier will get it. I feel my grandmother’s embarrassment whenever she had to introduce me to her friends.
What happened in my childhood isn’t my fault, but it is my fault I’m still living in the past. Seeing this so clearly now makes me want to change. I’ve known in the past that I deserve better, but now I feel like I deserve it. I want this. I want to be healthy and happy. I want to work through my issues with food. I want to be better for me and improve my life. I want to be old as hell.
I want to look back on this moment, on all the moments that defined me and fucking thrive.