I’ve been looking for apartments, and it’s been frustrating. This is because of: 1. Time constraints (I need to be out by the end of the month and I have limited time to look); 2. Money constraints (I rely on loans and I’m trying to keep my debt down, even though it really can’t get any worse at this point); 3. Consequences of money constraints (cheap apartments are cheap for a reason – the last one I looked at had hilly floors and smelled like despair). Today I was sure I was gonna get this place, a nice studio in a nice part of town with reasonable rent. I think I told someone I was gonna get it for sure, and that probably jinxed it because of course I didn’t get it. So now I’m frustrated.
Usually, I refrain from writing (or doing anything productive) when I’m frustrated, because I know it will taint whatever I produce. Today, I’m inspired by frustration to write. I just don’t know what else to do at the moment. Right now continuing to look for places is the last thing I want to do, and yet logically it’s the only thing I should be doing. So this is a word picture of me frustrated. A snapshot of frustration.
If this thing happened in a vacuum, then I’d be fine. It’s only irritating because it’s concurrent with other worries, things like work stress, classwork, needing to pack, etc. Plus, I’m pretty sure that I screwed up in a few ways that caused me to lose the place and that exacerbates it. Should I not find an apartment by June 1st, my “Plan B” is to move my stuff into a storage unit and live at the YMCA. Thinking about that definitely doesn’t help.
I started to think/write about how I pull myself out of it, but I realized that doing that amount of informative writing would be frustrating in itself. In a nutshell: I make some tea, make a to-do list, do absolutely nothing for half an hour, then get to work on something on that to-do list.
Alright, I feel a little better now. Everything’s gonna be OK. I’m off to make some tea.