Anxiety

Jun 16, 2012 02:31

Kelly, my housemate with the cat is moving out at the end of this month. He couldn't score a job, and with the raise in rent looming if we renew the lease, the cost of living here just became too much. I'm partially glad he's going, because I can't fucking stand his cat. For the first six months of living in this apartment, it proceeded to urinate and defecate on the rug outside my door and the rug inside the bathroom (both of which are mine). Every time it happened, I texted or wrote him a note. Next came the yowling. When you own a pet and it starts making a noise like it's in some sort of distress, most owners will go and see what the hell the animal is whining about. Not Kelly. He'll be sitting at his computer, cat whining up a storm. When I peek my head into his room to see if he's there, he'll just look at me. I said, "You're cat is making noise. Please do something about that." "Yeah, she does that." was his response. "Okay, this is what I do." I said, trying desperately not to haul off and punt the cat across the room. I grabbed the cat up and placed it outside on the balcony and closed the sliding glass door. Walking back passed his door, I told him, "She whines like that, she gets put outside." It went like this for a while. Eventually the cat learned that, if she was meowing and saw me come out of my room, she *was* going outside. Anyway, that little furball is finally going away.

The message he sent me and Austin (my other housemate) sent me into a tizzy since I thought the lease was up at the end of *this* month. That night I went to sleep and had the most horrible dreams of what life would be like living at my parents' place in Camino. Cleaning the house to seemingly impossible standards. Doing yard work that always piles up and is never done well enough to please my dad. Constantly being badgered to get off my ass and do something. All of this stems from the letter I got right before I moved out of the house in San Jose. If I couldn't find a place to live in San Jose, I'd have been forced to live with them up in Camino and would have to work every day (cleaning and yard work were specified, not finding a paying job), most likely have to sell my car since I probably wouldn't get to use it much (Did I mention they live in a gated community and it's three miles to the front gate from the house? Not to mention another three miles to town. Doable? Maybe.), and no mention of where my stuff would go (most likely into my grandmother's garage, but that's not certain). My head started to spin with that prospect, and I began pondering just how hard it would be to live out of my car. Then I thought of all the things I would miss by not being in the bay area: movie nights with friends, Fringe, munches, classes, and other miscellaneous events I was already signed on for.

With a heavy heart, I crawled into bed and dreamed of life in that situation. It involved a lot of tireless work under the sun. Under that situation, the Navy would be my only escape (something I've been working towards for a while now... just need to get my weight down). I then envisioned a massive letter writing of all my friends to deluge me with happy tidings and good thoughts to bolster my feelings and keep me thinking positive. But then that led to my dad getting pissed off that the mailbox was full of letters for me and it was wasting his time and energy to bring it back to the house (I realize this was more of a caricature of my father, but I can honestly see him getting pissed at this sort of thing.). The occasional trips my mom takes to San Jose (hair, dentist, etc.) would be my only chance to see my friends (I didn't dare ask them to trek all the way up there just to see me.).

I awoke from this nightmare with a bit of a stomach ache. It was early in the morning; light just staring to peek through my window. I sat down at my terminal, signed on to the internet and went crazy with applying for jobs. Craigslist, Monster, and a slew of retail sites filled my tabs up. I punched up my resume to add some of the more recent work I'd been doing. I worked for five solid hours just turning and burning. Then it hit me, we moved in to the apartment in August, so July would be the doomsday month, not June. I was so confused and stressed that I layed down on my bed again and fell right asleep (I tend to get sleepy when I get stressed). I awoke from those fucking nightmares again. Same shit, but it felt worse. I guess my brain was stuck in that mode. I applied to more jobs (I'd been applying to jobs every week, but those were more cherry picked.) and texted a few friends for support.

That was two days ago and I've just started coming down from this cornered feeling I've been feeling in the pit of my stomach. I like that it motivated me, but I don't like how it left me feeling.

housemate, stress, depression, dreams, moving, job hunting

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