Money is the root of all evil

There are days when I realize how much I really love my mom and how great a job she did raising me.
Ha, I realize that sounded a little funny, because I’m not some high-paid executive with a bright future. I’m just her daughter, the one that has all the weird issues, who lives in Chicago, who finally has a nice boyfriend, who believes in karma, whose car got smashed, who loves her life, who is going through so much weird trouble it’s insane, who can’t imagine what she’s going to do after college, who’s considering grad school, who loves her mother so much.

I sat on the phone with her for like an hour and a half today, just talking about life and everything in it. Talking about Hunter, our future, his future, my future, our relationship, Emily, the money issue, values, belief systems, life, school, the Dominick’s/Safeway regional manager, rent, money, etc. It’s hot today here, hot like I’ve not felt all summer.

Also, in relatively lame news, I may have been exposed to Hepatitis C when I was in the hospital in January for surgery. How fail is that? Some crazy nurse lady was stealing painkillers, injecting them into herself and then leaving the dirty syringes filled with saline for the patients. So I received a certified letter informing me of my possible exposure and then they told me they’d like to test me. Great. Love getting tested for Hep C. It’s going to be awesome.
Good news though: out of the 5700 people possibly exposed, only like 7 have it. So hopefully I won’t be number 8.

Ah, money, the thing we can’t live without. The thing that drives us and drives us nuts.
Hunter is stressed out right now, and I don’t blame him. He’s hoping to get a second job at Starbucks (free coffee and health benefits!), so that should be nice.
I’m hoping to survive summer school. I’ve got a small part in an independent film shooting in August and I’m helping one of my professors cast a movie this next week.

Busy enough.

The Dominicks/Safeway regional manager called me today. He apologized, listened to me tell him that I was treated like a criminal, explained the policy (which is absolutely moronic, in my very valid opinion), I told him I understood the policy, but questioned its implementation. This exchange went on for quite awhile. In the end, I got a sort of apology, the promise that the store manager will be hearing from him personally, etc. etc. I told him not to get the workers in trouble, but that it was the manager and his female goon that embarrassed me and hurt my opinion of the integrity of the store. So you know, we evened out. Whatever. At least my emails got the attention of the regional manager. I feel a little bit better about that.

Well, a nice summer party tonight. Emily is out of town, so I’m heading down to South Michigan Ave to a friend’s, where we will all hang out.

Good day.

Gone.

We’re getting ready, steadily moving forward, changing the plan. There’s been a lot of yelling and frustration about something that should have been simple. It’s hard for me to part with my stuff.
I find myself most content when I have less, yet I have this compulsion to always have more. It’s a fact; it’s not a habit; it’s something I cannot yet change. Maybe as I ease into adulthood and come into being as my own person, I will be able to forego the material and embrace the singular ideal of life without clutter.
Remember when Mom and Dad got divorced and Mike and I lived out of duffel bags? I have decided that this is where my need for stuff comes from, the idea that perhaps I won’t have something for a few days, the idea that someone else will take it and I’ll never see it again, the idea that I’ll be somewhere and not have what I need with me.
It’s odd.
The new, revized Plan Z is this: Mom and Mike are leaving Denver at noon on the 7th. I leave before them, in the early morning hours. We meet in Chicago on Friday afternoon, sign the lease, hand over ridiculous amounts of money, open the doors to my new life and then settle in. Then they leave.
It’s great, really. Hopefully this will eliminate the need for a.) shippping and b.) plane tickets for Mom. Maybe we will save money, maybe we will not. At this point, it’s not about that anymore. It’s about the fact that all of this is happening in four days.
I can’t wait.
I have things to tell everyone, things I have mulled over and over.
But the thing I have to tell you is: I want to go abroad. I want to pack a bag and then just leave. I would like that very much.

Let’s embrace what we have left of everything.