All I want is to live with Emmy, Jason, Eleni, MF, Molly and Katie. I want my mother to live right next door. And two doors down in various directions I want all my best friends.
I’m tired of being lonely. I’m tired of being terrified each day of what lies ahead in the classroom. I’m tired of waves of anxiety so dense I can barely breathe. I know I should see all these things as opportunities but I don’t. It sucks to have no idea where I’ll be two months from now. It would be something else if I were 22.
While trying to sleep last night I decided that, regardless of what happens with this job, I will move from this apartment by the end of March. It’s perfectly nice, but I’m just tacked on to the edge of someone else’s life. It’s not home. The owners thump around after my bedtime, while I worry about making too much noise when the baby cries at 5 pm. If I wanted to be someone’s guest, at least I shouldn’t have to pay $1150 a month for the privilege—particularly when I’ve got a mortgage at the same time.
Look at the paragon of perfection that fell asleep on my chest today:
Yeah!