I’ve given my 30-days notice and I am getting the f@$* out of my apartment. What started out as bad, became bearable though still awkward, and grew to become a monster. After a litany of texts hailed at me from one roommate claiming that I’m ignorant, uncultured, and a white girl (um hello, I am?!), I decided that I’d had enough of walking on eggshells. I want to come home and watch TV when I’m tired without being accused of hogging the television. I want to have a grown up conversation when someone is annoyed with something I’ve done, not get called rude and offensive names. I want to have the guy I’m dating come over without getting a note telling him to put the toilet seat down. I may want many things, but none of them are unreasonable. So the apartment search begins…again. Fingers crossed!
And please send good karma my way for the strength to last 32 more days in this place. Because for the last 8 days since the name-calling, I’ve been finding it difficult to eat, my stomach is always in knots, I cry randomly, I avoid home like there’s a plague there (which there sort of is), and I’m nervous constantly. Thank heavens for the wonderful Chicago friends I have for keeping my distracted as much as possible and talking me off a ledge. I will get through this…and I’ll probably be able to eat a horse when I’m moved.
I read an appropriately great quote today that helped me feel justified in my needing to move. I only have one life and I gotta do what’s right for me before this life is adios: “At our age, the end is no longer an abstraction. It’s not in the periphery; it is right in front of us – and has definable features. All roads lead to the Big Adios.”
New City newspaper