In the last five years, I have lived in six different places (not counting rebounding to my parent's place when I transition between apartments) and I'm about to move again. I have twice lived alone, once with a stranger, and three times with at least two other women.
I have been happy in none of them.
But, whatever, it is what it is. I'm moving out to Baltimore for, probably, only one year, and because it is a move that is both long and likely to lead to an even longer move next year, my primary interest is in whittling down my things to the essentials. I think that that will make my life about ten times simpler, really.
The place I end up in after Baltimore has to last at least two years, though, or I think I'm just gonna curl up in an angry ball of exhaustedness and die.
And who knows, maybe B'more is the place that I stay. Buuuuuuut I doubt it. I went out there for a couple of days to do some apartment hunting and oh my god the posturing. It's like everyone is a third peacock out there. Too stressful, can't handle, need more muddy mountain people mixed in with the cityfolk.
Anyway, this is a long winded way of saying that the process of moving from one apartment to another makes me irrationally angry, so if anything I say in the next....two to three weeks, say, seems really over the top, that's why.
Stress, man.
