My apartment hunt occupies almost all of my free time and most of my thoughts.
I think about it on the train, I dream about looking at spaces in the night.
My phone is full of the numbers of strangers, combinations of their names and the places they offered up on craigslist:
Ali Prospect St, Dan in Camb.
I talk to these people more than I talk to my friends.
But my hunt isn't interesting enough to blog about. A part of me hates myself anytime I even burden someone with talking about it in person so how can I expect to write about it every day.
No new changes, we're a week until move-out day and I have no idea where I'm going to be living, no way to picture what my life will be like in a week.
It's thrilling and terrible.
I secretly wonder if this how some of my patients became homeless.
Luckily, there are distractions and moments of solace. Work, for example, because focusing on the problems and hardships of other people is generally a very effective way to forget my own issues for 8 hours at a time. Performing at IA, because I become a different person for those two hours at a time, existing in a world where only production matters. And, of course, prayer. Because in the end, I have to trust that God won't let me fall by the wayside now, not after everything else I've come out on top of.
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