The Bloody Doors Off

The roommate moved out today. Knew it was coming, but thought it wasn’t until the end of September. And he hadn’t even started packing until yesterday, so my confusion is justified. And there’s still some of his things he’ll need to pick-up.

I’ve been thinking for a while now that I wanted my own place. Now I have it. But I can’t afford it long-term. I can carry it for a while but would prefer (a) to be above ground, and (b) in a one-bedroom.

So the decision I’ve been wrestling with for weeks is, do I continue the search or try for another roommate and hope it works out? Part of the second-guessing has been based on what I’ve seen so far, which is, deplorable. Bed bug reports, over-priced hole in the walls. (I nearly wrote whole in the wall, I’m a bit toasty right now.) And the ones that could be decent say no pets allowed. Which is bullshit.

Short story short, I’m frustrated and it’s depressing me. Which leads to more stress and I’ve been down that road and don’t wanna go back, thank you very much. I’ve said to this day that I think I left too early (scared straight, maybe?)

My printer just made strange noises. No, really.

And now my laptop just got weird.

Distracted much? Yeah, to keep me from thinking. Over thinking. Driving myself crazy.

Fuck. Just drove myself into a panic attack.

Where