non·plus  (nn-pls)

tr.v. non·plussed also non·plused, non·plus·sing also non·plus·ing, non·plus·ses also non·plus·es

To put at a loss as to what to think, say, or do; bewilder.

A state of perplexity, confusion, or bewilderment.

It seems it’s been over a month since I wrote anything for the blog. Remember when I’d write once a day, sometimes, two? I don’t know what’s happened — I think I’m depressed and stressed out, for starters.  But there are so many times I think “that would make a good blog post,” or even come here to write one and just can’t make myself go through the motions.  And I even have a part-time job where I could do a fair amount of blogging from when it’s not busy (con permiso). Even still, I feel stalled and stilted and stifled.

Sometimes, it’s because I’ve managed to convince myself that everything I’ve written here — all the drama, the dread, the dredging up of memories of things that many people can’t relate to — is fucking me somehow. That potential roommates or employers or something have found this blog and are reading it and are deciding my fate based on … gosh, it’ll be eight  years of blogging come the end of March. Anyway, eight years of ruminating and revealing and just laying it all out there. It = me.  And thinking that so many people have read all of it or some of it or even a post and decided that they don’t like what they see. Or read. Or hear. I don’t know.

So, I come here, ready to tell a tale or share an experience or lament about something, and I find myself reluctant. Why now? I don’t know. I can’t even answer the question myself. If I was that worried about it all, I’d just take the damn thing down, right? RIGHT? But I keep on.

Anyway, I’m here to say that the beginning of 2012 has been a real kick to the ribs. I don’t know what to do. (I always love how I worry about this blog and then I come right back and lay it all out on the table again. Like a fucking idiot.) I am homeless. I can’t figure it out, really. I’m starting to become regularly ashamed of my age — which I swore would never happen.  And one of the reasons I am, is because I can’t believe I’m this old and have nowhere to live.

Strangely enough, it’s not for reasons which I might have suspected at any one given time in my life. I blew all my money and now I don’t have any for rent, for instance. Spending foolishly and recklessly has always been one of my worst behaviors. But that’s not it. I have money for an apartment. I’ve essentially been looking since November, with no luck. It’s that I have a cat. And that she can’t live with other animals. That seems to be the thing. Unless the people who have met me have just seen the desperation and hopelessly needy desire to have a place to live.

It’s too bad, because I’ve lived with enough people at this point, that I think I make a pretty good roommate. I’m laid back — not much gets me whipped up. I’m open to compromise and communication. I can hang out or completely leave you alone. I’m pretty flexible. Yet, I find myself with no place to live. I didn’t have a place to live when my lease ended on the 31st of January, and my ex-roommate was gracious enough to allow me to stay with him for a month.  That’s drawing to a close as of tomorrow, and I still have nothing. Completely clueless.

I’m baffled for a lot of reasons. One is that I just got this new part-time job working over at the city’s quintessential home for sketch comedy. I work in the box office and I like it a lot — I’ve thought about a vague blog post about all of that, but haven’t managed one yet.  But it seems if I am to move home with my parents or something, that I maybe wouldn’t have gotten that job or something. I don’t know. And there was the huge deal this whole month with my kidney infection. Again, blog posts coming out my ears, but I just couldn’t put fingers to keyboard to make them happen.

So, I don’t know. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to turn or what I’m supposed to do or how this all works out. It’s always worked out before. Even when I was doing a lot less to even try (working or looking or caring). And now, I feel like I’m trying to bust my ass to find somewhere and I can’t come up with a thing. Or I find an ad that seems fucking perfect and they don’t get in touch with me or they pick someone else. I’m failing *roommate* interviews, at this point, people.

I’ve been maintaining the idea that ‘everything happens for a reason’ for a long, long time. But I can’t get my mind around this one. I guess maybe there’s supposed to be something I need to do in Wisconsin or something? I don’t know. I’m clueless. Baffled. Lost. Nonplussed.


One thought on “nonplussed

  1. Just write. Write all you have. Forget about what potential roomies, employers etc think and just give us your all. Your blog was better when you released your self into it. Write about the bipolar the drugs the pain. That is what we want to hear. Write daily and you will get noticed. It’s about honesty and self-revelations.

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