Seven Days

18 Apr

This is my last full week in Chicago. We’re leaving so early Wednesday morning it may as well be Tuesday. I have seven days left before I have to close the door.

I sort of run around in a haze of nostalgia on a daily basis, mooning and swooning over anything that can strike a memory. If I was nostalgic before, there’s no word for what I am now. I’m worse than an elderly cat lady with Alzheimer’s. Everything is making me cry. The last time I’ll shop at this grocery store. The last time I’ll eat this pizza, take this train, go out with these friends, work Saturday in this office. Even things that shouldn’t matter to anyone ever, like this is the last time I’ll go to this dentist or gynecologist. Who moons over the gynecologist?

I’ve always been the type of person to look back and mourn. I know there’s just as many firsts in the future as lasts, and everything is a new adventure. You can’t anticipate all the firsts, though. They’re new, exciting. In the moment you’re focused on the events but you can’t be sure what’s coming. It’s terrifying. You can wallow in the lasts, pull them around you and relive the things that have already happened. Grieve for the things you’re putting behind you. It’s comfortable to me.

I might be a smidgen more excited about if all if we had a place to live. I know, did your heart just fall out of your ass when you read that sentence and realized in one week I’ll be driving 1400 miles to nothing? I didn’t want to mention it, but welcome to my last month. We’ve been having some trouble finding both places that can accommodate the dogs, and places that even want to deal with us. It seems the rental market is filled with things available for you right now, and if you’re not standing on their doorstep with your moving boxes they’re not really interested in dealing with you. That means it would come to follow that once we get there, there will be more things available now and then everything will be fine. I have poor luck though, and don’t tend to operate in the realm of “fine” so much as the realm of “everything just blew the fuck up.”

So in one week, I’ll either be fine and in a lucky apartment that sprang up, or living in my car, showering with those rinse-off showers they have by the beach. I guess if you’re going to be homeless anywhere, you should pick somewhere sunny.

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2 Responses to “Seven Days”

  1. Nikki April 18, 2012 at 12:05 pm #

    Oh my love bug! I’m sorry that things are not working out just right for you right now. I know you guys will land on your feet though! And you’re absolutely right – what better place to be a wanderer than at the beach?? Do you have a job lined up yet? And don’t worry I’m sure they have fabulous gynos in Florida. What part of Florida are you moving to? Cami – a bloggy friend – lives in FL maybe you will be near here and she can help you out?

    • Cally April 18, 2012 at 5:16 pm #

      We actually do both have jobs lined up, which is probably 90% of the real battle. It’s just frustrating to have money, and people have apartments, but we can’t make the connection for whatever reason. I’m going to be in the Ft Lauderdale/Miami area.

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