Sometimes I sleep in the spare room, just for the perfect quiet, even though the room is fushia and the sheets are emerald.

Even though it's just a mattress on the floor.

My mother's words have been rattling around in my head.

I wish she would just shut up and be happy I'm not on crack.

I wish she would just shut up and be happy I'm using the arts diploma she paid for.

I wish she would just shut up and realize that I am one of only four from my graduating glass who is still working in the business, who hasn't given up, who is supporting themself with their work and not just going at it half-assed.

I wish she would just shut up.

What the hell does she want me to be, brilliant?

I can only be so brilliant. I've only got an IQ of 125, or thereabouts.

I know it's above average, but it's below average for most of my family. I think I'm the dumb one.

Why can't she just be happy that I'm happy.

Goddammit.

My leg hurts. I think it's from spending so long on the Greyhound the other day. Did I mention? I can't remember. It ended up taking six hours longer than it should have. Bad weather, you know. But nobody's dead, including the fellow they called the ambulance for.

But yes. Leg. My bum hip is acting up. Even as I lay here quietly, the muscle that connects my knee to my hip is twitching, twitching, twitching.

It's been unhappy all day. I was limping by the end of the work day.

I decided to get pizza today. Pizza from the place near my house, and a nice craft beer that my roommate gave me. Then I would sit in the bath and eat my pizza and drink my beer and watch Annie.

So that's what I did.

I was sitting in the pizza place (which is run by this hilarious group of Asian guys, who only speak moderate English but make a damned good pizza) and the thought suddenly struck me: I would miss this place.

I haven't gotten pizza from there very often, but it was comfortable and familiar.

And I started to question my desire to move.

It is like I have two voices in my head, always yelling at each other.

There's the frightened voice, who is afraid of everything. Afraid of new things, of old things, of change, of not changing, of too much stuff, of not having enough stuff.

And there's the other voice, who constantly wants to go on an adventure.

My parents invited me to France in March. Said they'd pay airfare and hotel.

I am afraid. The fearful voice is screaming in my ear.

I will have just been laid off. I don't know the language (well). Ma francais est plus mal.

Je n'ais pas parle le francais en dix anais.

My grammar is probably awful.

I know I get all the genders wrong on all the words. ALL THE WORDS.

Anyway.

I haven't given them a firm answer about France. I'm afraid.

So much fear. It dominates my life.

As one of my favorite movies said: A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

I should just stop.

Should.

Just.

Stop.

.

Rosie.

Before&After