Hands reaching up

Haven’t written.

Lots of doing, not a lot of thinking. After three years of being on my own, I’ve finally reached the sweet reckless place of being too tired to give a fuck. Well, not entirely true. I do give a few fucks in the general direction of the possibility that my rent is going to skyrocket. it’s almost that time to renew and every time I come up my stairs or open my door I’m afraid I’ll find the notice wedged by the doorknob. It hangs over everything else like a cloud of dirty smog. Sometimes I’m too tired to give a fuck.

But I do. Give many.

My coffee table broke and I need a new one, but I don’t see the point in buying one only to have to lug it down the stairs in a few weeks. For the longest time I thought that losing my apartment would be the ultimate failure, but I know that if the rent goes up it’s no failure of mine. I tried to get ahead of it. I got a new job. There are things that you do, and there are things that happen to you.

On V Day we went to town. I’ve been thinking about a new camera but I’m not doing anything like that until I find out about my rent. Went to the mall and got a new baby yoda mask and super cute outfit from Disney. We ate at Sbarros, went to Target, saw Brad and Liz.

On Monday I made cases and then had Brad and Liz and Scott over and we played games (yes, I played games, perish the thought) and then we went to Applebee’s in the frigid cold and ate dinner and talked about going to Disney.

On Fat Tuesday we took a long strange trip and ended it by ordering $70 worth of pizza. Great Mardi Gras, even with the cold pressing on the apartment like a headache.

This weekend will be busy. Haircut Saturday, then hanging with Lacey & Scott. Lunch with the girls at Velvet on Sunday, then game night at Brit’s. First therapy on Tuesday. I hope my tax return comes in before my trip.

I don’t have panic right now. Just a blind numbness. I can’t stop whatever is coming. I did my best. What else is there?