Am I to that point, that fabled point of consciousness, where I am thinking about taking unskilled jobs because they seem interesting to me in their simplicity?
I am … I’m looking more and more seriously – and mostly the looking is into my own mind and heart – into moving back to Phoenix, one way or another. I feel almost entirely un-needed here anymore, and at the same time I’m no longer able to meet my financial needs remaining here. We’re building furniture, but it isn’t selling yet… I haven’t even heard that anyone is looking seriously at it. My grandparents and father are trying to sell the entire place anyway, move … who knows where? Some OTHER middle of nowhere, but from the sounds of it, an actual nowhere. No town, no neighbors to speak of, no traffic… I have no idea how they expect to cover their living expenses wherever they end up, except to live off the difference between what they’re selling and what they end up buying, which looks to be between 10 and 40 acres. And I don’t think I want any part of that reality.
But my father still owns a home in North Phoenix. My sister lives there now. My father has been trying to finish remodeling it to sell it for as long as I can remember. Always talking about selling it and buying some other property to do the same thing to. He likes the idea of buying a distressed property and working on it and working on it and reselling it at a big profit. But he’s been at the current one for over ten years, and I’m not sure getting him started on two infinite projects at once is a good idea. So, I’m hoping he doesn’t actually try to sell his place and start in on some other piece-of-shit property at the same time he’s trying to set up whatever property the grandparents end up with. But here:
Perhaps I could live with my sister at my dad’s house in Phoenix.
There’s certainly room. And at the current rent rates for children of the owner, I could afford it (ie: keep the utilities paid) easier than almost any alternative for living space, anywhere. Save here, for the last year. But whether this place sells or not, I can’t just stay here. I have a certain amount of bills to pay every month, and this place can’t support them and there isn’t any work in the area that I’m aware of. That’s one of the problems with small towns, I guess. But I don’t have much by way of bills each month. I could work part time at just over minimum wage and cover them. The trick is to earn that money. I can’t seem to do it here.
If there was interest in my art, at current (normal) prices, I could get by on a couple of small pieces or a single large piece every month. If there was a volume of novel sales, I could get by on less than a hundred books sold every month through the website or wholesale to other sellers, and around half that if I bought the books in bulk and sold them in person. (That sounds like a lot, now that I write it down. But I know that properly published and marketed books sell in the thousands and tens of thousands.) The quality and style of furniture we’re building – we’re pricing towards the low end of what people ask for it – I could sell a single piece every month or two and be fine, with most of it. Maybe a couple of the smallest pieces, but it doesn’t take much. And yet … it isn’t happening.
So I’m considering re-entering the work force, and I’ve been thinking about what I might like to do. There are options. I could get a job where my sister Angela works, maybe. Carpooling would make it easier, if I could get a comparable shift. And sales is easy if you know how to leave your morals at the door … which I don’t know whether I can do these days, but I can certainly try it. And then … these jobs … jobs that don’t require skills, just a good work ethic … jobs where you don’t need a resume to apply, just a pulse, jobs where the only people you interact with all day are co-workers, not customers… keep popping into my head like good ideas. I keep thinking of these simple jobs one does with one’s hands, which don’t leave you with anything on your mind at the end of the day, and I think “I could do that. That might be good for me.” and similar thoughts… Thoughts about getting a part-time job and living at my Dad’s place and keeping my bills paid and continuing to work on my writing and my art … perhaps more successfully than I have been here, because if I have a job that pays a little more than I need, I could buy art supplies, too. Oh, and being somewhere near civilization might help, too.
Oh, I don’t know.
It’s all very frustrating for me. There are so many ways things could change. Maybe the furniture will start to sell. Maybe my art will start to sell. Maybe the property will suddenly sell. I’ll certainly be needed during any move from here, to get everything together before the deal closes and the ownership shifts. Maybe they’ll find property to move to that isn’t in the middle of nowhere, or come up with some way of making money that doesn’t seem like as much of a joke as what they’re talking about now. Maybe grandmother or grandfather or both will die, which would change a lot of things. I don’t know.
My father simultaneously acts as though things are going to stay the same forever and as though things are going to change before the day is over. Every day. I can’t cope with it, I can’t figure it out, I don’t get it, and it’s just stressing me out. He does things … spends money, makes plans, all of it as though we’re going to be here building furniture and making money for years to come. He also talks and makes choices based on the idea that the property could sell at any moment, and all those future plans of his, and it … I just don’t get it.
Anyway, yeah. Thinking. About moving on. About moving. About … how to be fulfilled by what I do, to not forsake my dreams, to live. I’m so tired.