|
I left later in November, and had nowhere to go, really. I moved into my mom's house until I got my teaching job back at the college in January. Yvonne said she was heartbroken that I'd left, that I was the man she really loved and wanted to be with. The three months I'd stayed there told me she needed to work out the (maybe) ex- (maybe not!) boyfriend issues before we could ever try again to make it work. (Obviously the issues were not resolved when we talked on the phone on New Year's Eve while he and his daughter stayed the night in Yvonne's house.) Mind you, three months away in a foreign country (she lives in Canada) and no job will start to build the balance due on one's credit card. When I moved back to Wisconsin, I thought I knew financial and emotional heartache (yet nothing compared to today), and spent a lot of spare time in a local bar... sipping beer and smoking cigarettes. I just didn't care what would happen to my body. I was a month away from turning 38 years old when I starting smoking. I did get my teaching job back at the college, but with significant lack of funds found myself 125 miles from Mom's house and with no place to live. I slept in my office there for a month and a half, showering in the men's locker room by the gym, and changing into clothes packed in the trunk of my car. Finally, by the first of March, I had enough cash to be able to afford my own apartment. Things were starting to look up. |