Monday, August 3, 2015

A Small Victory

I know I'm going to sound like a wuss, saying a measly thirty-some hours of work kicked my butt, but it did. In all fairness to me, it was a pretty action-packed six-day week except for yesterday — my friday*, thankfully — and I'm seven years out of practice at the business of toiling for The Man. It's a good thing I'm off til Thursday; when I start my regular four-day work week, which even during peak season shouldn't be more than I can handle. Getting the medication for my ailing legs upgraded helped considerably, as did buying a pair of orthotic insoles. I just need to remember not to succumb to the temptation to rely on Rockstar™ to carry me through those days I start off punchy; just don't stay up late and drink a cup of tea with breakast.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Well Worth the Wait

I moved into the Fountain Place Apartments Thursday, after four-and-a-half years on the wait list. Also after a bit of confusion regarding my actual position on the wait list; I discovered Wednesday there was actually five people ahead of me instead of the one mentioned by the building manager. Fortunately for me none of them could be gotten a hold of. Even more fortunately for me was that I moved in just an hour ahead of the rain, which I was getting kind of tired of because I don't enjoy spending holiday weekends soaking wet dragging armloads of chump change (bottles and cans) ... only to dry off overnight on a loading dock a quarter of a block down the street from a massive tweaker refugee camp. That's two bullets dodged in a flurry of signatures!

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Holding Pattern

For a person whose personality can be described as sanguine and whose lifestyle has become frightfully sedentary and is often oriented to apathy I have a hard time waiting. It's been a week since I submitted my paperwork to HAP to review my eligibility to move into a subsidized housing unit, and I can tell a quiet storm of anxiety is percolating inside me. It's a matter of being torn between the tidal forces of hopeful expectation (I've caught myself engaging in interior decorating fantasies from time to time) and cynical realism (I refuse to consider myself anything but homeless until I sign my lease agreement and receive my keys). I've always been an eager anticipator who never quite mastered the detachment from desire necessary to avoid harboring high expectations of good fortune the moment my sails fill with a stray gust of hopefulness, despite my carefully crafted mantle of nihilistic pessimism and lassitude. Which means whenever I run into disappointment it falls on me as hard as a broken heart made out of cement.