I’m moving tomorrow, and nothing else has made me this happy in a very long time. Seriously, I’m levitating. Let me talk about it just a little more, okay?
The passive-aggressive roommate was showing my room last night to three different people, so I tried to make myself scarce doing laundry and chatting on the cell in the backyard. I figured it best not to meet any of the prospectives, should they ask me why I’m leaving. However, the couple cornered me as I folded whites. “He’s going to charge $50/month more than you paid. He has it posted on Craig’s List and we keep asking him for a copy but he won’t give us one.”
“Really?” I asked.
“And he told us that as long as he likes the applicant, it doesn’t matter if we do or not.”
Oh, I’m floating. Really, I am.
Home is so primal to me. Having a new place has opened a little door in my head, one that was locked and nailed shut over the past year and three months. Behind the door were all the various insults and degradations that I simply tucked away out of survival. With the door open again, they’re slipping out, running and screaming through my cerebral living room. They’re trashing the place. But then they pass a window and are stuck dumb at the vision, the simple idea of the new apartment. They’re speechless. In 24 hours the truck will be packed.
I fed two more garbage bags full of clothes to the streets of the Mission again last night. This morning a single pair of baggy Nike shorts lay on the sidewalk. What can I say, I never liked them, either.