I'm sitting in the library in Austin, utilizing the wifi / table / outlet combo to facilitate easier filling out of a rental application. Official documents of any type stress me out. Looking for a residence stresses me out. I am forging ahead, and paying the $50 fee for a background and credit check. I am hoping that my 2009 credit issues are explainable and that ten years ago is long enough to get a month-to-month situation in a house with individually leased rooms. Logically, it seems like I should be okay. I make money; they want money. I'm not a felon.
I found a room, and I filled out the digital paperwork. I want it. I want that room real bad. Partly, I just want to be done looking so I can focus on my next task, which is therapy and a doctor. Also, the room looks great. Lots of light, a private entrance, adequate size, stellar location. Another couple was checking out rooms in the same house, and I was seriously afraid they might show interest in the same room. They didn't, and I was relieved that I wouldn't need to fight them.
Easing my stress considerably is the fact that I love this city and everybody seems friendly and relaxed. It goes a long way. In a way, it makes all the difference. Austin has everything going for it. Let me get a place to live, and I believe I can make shit happen. This is a new chapter that I'm excited to write. I'm fighting for it. I don't know the future, but I am excited about the direction I am headed.
Holy fucking shit life is weird and then we die. The best we can do is get involved in some shit in the meantime and try to make our stay as pleasant and free of suffering as possible. Existence feels abstract and overwhelming and I vacillate between helpless panic and laughing out loud. I'm not even complaining. This is how it is, and there is no use ruminating about that which you cannot control. It is super fucking obvious why people drink. I completely understand why people kill themselves. Of course I won't be doing that, and I hope it isn't reckless just to admit that I get it. I'm probably going to be around at least twice this long. Holy fucking shit, I'm not even deleting this paragraph.
I am not struggling. Not by a long shot. I am often wondering how the fuck everybody is either pretending that everything is normal, or is somehow actually fooled into thinking it is so. This shit blows me right away. We are wild lobotomized animals, and I feel forced to also pretend that everything is completely normal, because the alternative would absolutely get me into hot water. I keep my head low and drink wine. Maybe it'll get better with age.