Saturday, June 15, 2013

The Ravings of a Potentially Homeless Twenty-Something

When I woke up this morning, I jumped on Craigslist first thing, as I have been doing every morning for awhile now, to find our next apartment. Link after link of places that we can't afford, don't like, aren't real all in the hopes of finding the perfect place eventually. As long as eventually comes around real soon. And we've found a few places, and gone to look at them, and even really liked one or two, but none so much as the one we looked at this morning. Oh, we liked it so much. Enough to ignore the lack of closet space, or cabinets in the kitchen, or height of the shower. Enough to say, wewantitwe'lltakeit and have the landlord say OK, it's yours! just fill out the application I email to you later and write that deposit check when you get home.

OK we said, and the world was a f**king dream.

And for the last several hours I've been clinging to that dream like an (insert metaphor here), while sitting in front of a computer trying to pound out ten pages worth of a grad paper, My Reflections on Adolescent Literacy. I have not been doing a good job, writing and un-writing paragraphs that have no direction, on the edge of freaking out that this paper might never happen.

Hysteria mounting, I checked my email to see if the beautiful application to our apartment would be waiting for me! And it was, with a note from the landlord saying "I've never been in this situation before but, bla bla someone else also really liked the apartment too, and says they'll pay more than you, so, if you want to match or exceed their offer, then THIS time, it's yours!" NEVERMIND that he stood there in the kitchen saying some bullshit about first-come-first-serve.

Now I'm crying in front of the computer, not writing my paper or functioning as an adult human, but rather a baby human, writing the book Reflections on the Evening I Lost My Mind. 

I can feel myself collapsing inward, rubbing my own back in the sickest display of self-pity that says "Papers are hard to write, thinking is hard to do, no more please."

And maybe I'm PMSing, but I'm also just scared. 


  1. Hang in there. Sending you the biggest hug and atta girl I have.

  2. Do I need to drive out there so we can hang out in the library all day writing that paper? Cause I will!

    I will instruct my future (time-traveling!) self to go back & make sure the apartment-stealers have crappy water pressure, a neighbor that plays the accordion & an undefinable, but very real, sense that someone is always watching them.

    You'll find an even better place. "L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.” :)

    Love ya!