It is fair to say that, if you catch me drinking Chardonnay, I am not feeling myself.
I have spent the day talking to frantic patients, whiney docs, and apartment hunting. I am so unbelievably over apartment hunting. I am so over packing all of my shit up and bringing it somewhere else. Honestly, if I knew I would be moving again this soon, I would have just taken off a long time ago. Little irritated about it. Must say. But, can’t say I didn’t see it coming a few months ago. Can’t say I wasn’t ready to start the hunt again. Well, ready no, but expecting yes.
I am just about as stressed out about it as I was last time. Not quite though, because my roommate and part owner of my brain is not involved, but still. I hate the idea of boxes and repacking and unpacking and hanging things and all that crap. I hate the idea of just getting used to one place and having to get used to another. If I could afford it, I would move to Neptune Beach now, it is the only one I haven’t lived at yet. And, because of my parents, I have just about lived in every apartment complex in the city, so I think it might be time to get out of here. And if I didn’t just promise to stay in my current job for a year, I would have already been planning an out.
I was driving by our old beach shack today and it made me feel like I’d been hit by a bus. I want to go back there. I would even go back to wearing the entire contents of my closet in the winter and running around in just a bikini in the summer (not a bad thing, by the way, unless you are the one who has to see it) and sharing a bathroom and losing Ernge under the house and the cocky landlord. I would take it all. Damn that guy who lives in my house.
Why is it that, just when you think you might have gotten rid of a headache, someone comes up and kicks you right in the temple?
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