This is my first blog post.
I got this blog from a woman named Alexandra who I met at a party who was giving up on her dreams of being a novelist in order to do something else. She said it was weird because she just declared on the blog that she was almost done with her novel, and then she said, the pressure to finish it kicked in, and she simultaneously got offered the job she always wanted and she figured enough was enough. She’d just give up. We started talking while outside on the roof at this party in Oakland, looking at the twinkling Bay Bridge lights and the San Francisco skyline in the distance.
She said she spent years building this blog and she didn’t want to see it go to waste. In it’s heyday, back when she was in grad school, it got about 90 hits a day. This was back in 2007…I was still in high school then. I think that was back when blogs first started. We were drinking beers outside on the rare warm night. She said she was getting too old to hustle all the time and that she was going to try to retrain and get a job in tech or something. We exchanged numbers. When I got home, she had already texted me the login and password to her blog. Enjoy, she texted with a <3.
So, here I am. I recently moved to San Francisco from Los Angeles. I’m 27 years old. I am here to figure out what I’m going to do with my life and also to take care of my grandmother, Ruby. She is in her 90s and has dementia. I don’t know where I’m going in life. You could say I’m rudderless. No direction home.
What else is there to say about me…Oh, yeah…my mom passed away last year. I took care of her through her cancer and now I’m taking care of my grandma who has dementia in her flat in San Francisco. Sometimes when I think about it I get sad, and other times, I don’t feel anything. I don’t know if that’s how I’m supposed to feel. In the day I look for jobs and surf the internet and try not to be jealous of people I went to school with whose lives are better than mine on instagram.
It’s just grandma and me right now. I call her Yiayia. One thing I have in common with the writer who willed me this blog is we both have had rough lives. She took care of her mother when she had cancer as well. Her mother lived. Her father died though. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. I couldn’t blame her. Sometimes people expect you to grieve on command. We bonded over that.
When she was my age, she had already been married for a year. I can’t imagine myself ever getting married. I think I am part of the lost generation that never will grow up. We’ll live in flats with roommates, work jobs we’re not thrilled with, drink like fish, party like rockstars, and go to parties on rooftops in Oakland until we get grey hair and then we will never have kids. That’s another thing I can’t see myself doing is having kids. I have one friend who got married super young and she has a baby, but it feels like her life is completely under lock and key. I am glad I’m free.
It’s amazing how much you can learn about somebody on a roof top party in Oakland, underneath the moonlight, while holding a Sierra Nevada IPA in your hand, but you can. I’m glad she’s loaned me this blog. She said she always kept it anonymous, but I think I will just sign my name. If anyone is out there reading this, My name is Persephone Chronologou and I am alive and writing to you across time and space.
Even though I am running out of money, I bought a little orchid from the grocery store and it’s sitting next to my computer because it makes me happy.
I will make a cup of coffee soon and look for work. Hopefully I’ll get a job. I doubt anyone is out there reading this or that any of her readers are left, but if you are out there, dear reader, please wish me luck.
San Francisco. 2015.