The second bump in the road of fake marital bliss happened pretty much the same way the first did and ended with me, in a snit, on the sofa again. This time, P was in less of a hurry to apologize. And I was in less of a forgiving mood. I started talking about planning my exit; he didn't stop me. I began to wonder what was wrong with me; I couldn't even be in a two week relationship? For a while, I'd been pretty sure I was bad at maintaining anything long term, but now I was learning I can't even do a fling right. What exactly does that leave for me?
The second "fight" blew over and we continued to enjoy each other's company, but I also continued to think of my next destination. Getting out of Yarmouth, post-ferry crossing season, is much harder than I'd imagine. Especially since I had much less money than I would have imagined at this point in my adventure. When I first started thinking of this journey, I had a savings goal in mind and planned my original departure for a time when I figured I'd have that specific amount saved. I ended up not making as much as I'd planned and therefore, not saving as much as I'd have liked. When I left New York with much less than I'd assumed I'd have, knowing I still had credit card debt to pay off, if not any other monthly bills, I had already started calculating in my head how I would have to change some of my plans. And how I would eventually have to ask my parents for some help. It hasn't happened yet, but it's coming soon. And I had counted on being fine until the end of the year. I'd also counted on not having to take a loan from my parents at age 35. So, with my budget in mind, I pieced together a bus/train trip to Chicago (and more free lodging!) that would last 50 hours. More on that later.
Besides the fact that I would be a terrible wife, I learned something else from my time with P. Well, really with his niece. When his great-aunt died, I volunteered to babysit while the family attended the funeral. The service was far away and they would be gone for the better part of the day. This particular one year old is a lovely little girl, very good natured. And from our previous time together, she'd already decided she liked me more than her uncle. I have a way with kids; I always have. And I've always been crazy about children, especially babies. This has had me convinced for most of my life that I want children of my own. Not to mention a strong case of baby fever I'd been suffering from for over a year, brought on, I assume by my needy biological clock and my dwindling supply of good eggs.
The six weeks between my leaving NYC and this day of babysitting were the first extended period of time in a LONG time (I'm talking decades) in which I was only taking care of myself, thinking of myself. I guess I caught a new kind of fever in those six weeks, because as sweet as this toddler was, I realized I didn't want the responsibility. I'd caught freedom fever! Not once had I viewed the caring for others as a burden; it was just what I did, what I knew how to do really well. But getting a taste of what C and I have now named "Time for Amy" (a spin on our favorite catalogue, "Time for Me"), made me think it isn't so bad to just have myself to look after. And I need plenty of looking after. Maybe the next part of my life will see me figuring out some of the stuff I've been neglecting for a while. And I'm not just talking the credit card debt.
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