*phew*
2015 is going to be a great black crater in my mind after it's done with. I've spent so much anxiety on my bad fortunes, without giving due credit to my good fortunes, and to the way I've been able to rebound. I've not been looking at things very positively. I've also been stubbornly ignoring chronic depression, and will continue to do so because addressing it in a medical sense does not give me an array of good options. It's a disorder for which I am choosing to seek social treatment.
I've been stuck in a closet-sized room in an upstairs apartment since September 2012. I gave my 30 day notice on Tuesday when I paid my December rent on my month-to-month lease. I don't feel safe here, I never did. I don't feel clean, don't feel comfortable, don't feel rested, don't feel like I have the space to speak or to listen, don't feel loved, and don't feel vital. I've felt those things at times that I've lived here, but not all at once. The city, I can call home. The place in which I habitate? I can't call it home. I'm looking.
I quit my job to look. I lost another job back in October, and the new gig wasn't working out anyway. I need to find something better, but I get the funny feeling like I'll always be saying that. And the funnier still feeling that I won't mind saying that forever, and that I won't mind searching forever. If I do nothing in the next 4 weeks, I will be without a home, without a job, and without too many funds to fall back on. I've pitted myself in a race against time in which I get to turn off time. No more alarm clocks, no more parking meters, no more lunch on the job, just a man with some time, out on a limb. I guess this is why I never do daylogs? It's easy for the content to come off as messy and emotional and melodramatic. But I guess I can appreciate that too.