It was a year ago this week that I left my well payed career as a firefighter. Self pity ruled last summer. I did it to myself. I dug my own hole, made my own bed, fucked it all up for myself, but did I really?
These are the jobs I've had since: landscaping, temporary organizer for a teacher's union, substitute teacher, teacher's assistant, and gas station attendant. During that time I burned through all my savings. Whatever little money I'd put away in my retirement account I withdrew and payed my mortgage until I couldn't, luckily my realtor and friend, Tasha, helped me find someone to rent my home. I didn't want to lose that asset.
As every day become more stressful than the one before, I found myself selling almost everything I owned, furniture mostly, some sentimental, some flat out garbage. My parents were sweet about letting me store some of my boxes at their home, some clothes, others full of my kids toys and their bedding. I made a vow to come home in a few months and get a new place to live. They will each have their own rooms again and I will set them up better than they were. This new home will come with all sorts of cool perks, even a new girlfriend for me.
On Wednesday of last week, the 6th of June, I drove to Santa Fe with my parents.