far sooner than i would have liked to consider it, here comes the distinct possibility of having to move to another apartment…
fuck me.
i mean, i know my apt. is small. and thus, even though we don’t have too much — or at least, not much worth value — it is crowded. a bit. it’s a tad too cozy for stuff. it has great minimalist potential, but i never have the time to throw things away, and am usually picking up after the destructive force of lola. and i know the boy hates my place. i guess i could make more of an effort to clean every day, but i’m usually wrecked after work and barely have enough time to take care of a few key things every evening. and the weekend spend-all-day-cleaning-everything-but-my-bedroom fests were starting to get to me, because all that effort and the place is a wreck again by tuesday. and i hate it when it’s cluttered and dirty. exhaustion makes me deal with it, but i can’t stand it. you know, it’s constantly fighting a losing battle.
and it is pricey, but everywhere in allston is, pretty much. but considering what an awesome location it is. i’ve been really happy. at least, that seemed like one of the few extra things i’d have to worry about. you know, considering all the other things that are falling down around me, having some sort of sanctuary meant a lot. especially since i’ve managed to convince myself to remain calm in the apartment post-break-in (because the logistics of a repeat occurrence are so slim now, that the mechanics of it would require too much effort).
then there’s the part where i’ve never really had a “home” in new england. a semester here, a short term there, one year lease, etc. even in watertown, living in a “house” i felt like a long-term visitor. or something. and living with the special gay psycho meant i was uncomfortable outside of my bedroom unless other people were around — one can only take so much stony silence before giving up, you know. and school housing doesn’t count, specifically because it is so short term and unreliable. uncomfortable too.
then, the more i think about it, the more i realize i don’t really have a place all my own at all. every day at #1 is borrowed time. expensively borrowed time, but borrowed time nonetheless. there are no relatives or close friends (anymore) around that i’d ever crash with. although, i can’t really crash with people unless i’m in an exceptionally tight spot…because it just doesn’t feel right to me. i’m not one to randomly drop by someone’s house for a visit either….i always feel like an intruder. and well…home is no longer in colorado. mind you, i don’t feel at home in new england yet — i might not ever — but i have nothing in colorado.
in fact, on this stupid trip i’m paying out the ass for…i have no idea where i’m staying for certain. my folks’ house (the mother’s house now)? ruben’s? alfreds? gravy’s? jesus…fuck me. but the bottom line is: that is not home. it’s not a safe haven i could run back to, if needed. i don’t have one of those. i never really have…and i don’t know, i guess i’ve always made sure i don’t get in a situation where i need to. and that’s fine by me, i don’t want to be there anyway.
i suppose it could be ok…maybe. i mean, i do have the best roommate ever. i just don’t want to get stuck out in the cuts somewhere. and the location is good here…at lest getting-to-work-wise. i don’t know. i’m reluctant. and i hate hate hate looking for places. and i’m convinced that packing is the 7th level of hell…and then the actual moving. i’ve moved so many times in the last year, i just don’t know if i have any more left in me.
and that’s just it.
i
am
exhausted…
