Is it time?
It's time. I'm making an effort to get myself interview-ready. I've been building a wardrobe of stylish, durable work clothes-- Express pants, NY&Co. shirts. I needed a new pair of heeled boots, so I ordered this pair this morning because they look stylish and sturdy. I got a cropped peacoat and a few more work shirts. Adult clothes.
It's time. I'm wracking my brain for things that I don't have that I will soon need. A miniature iron. Maybe a blow-dryer. Gloves and a pair of earmuffs. I would like a rug and a cool lamp. There's a Target run in my near future, I think.
It's time. I'm taking my futon, two bookshelves, a retro-looking shelf, my fishtank, my papazan chair. There's a desk already in the space. I need to sort through my stuff-- decide which boxes of books and ephemera will remain in storage, and reorganize by priority. I've got to call the cable company to arrange internet and television. I may re-work my student loans.
It's time. I need to get away from such closed-minded views. People who think skin color and gender should dictate love, people who are comfortable in their ignorance and judgement. I would rather be actually alone than feel alienated.
It's time. I've even changed my hair. It's a dark, deep red. I wish I had a picture to show you, but I still don't have internet at my house. Likely, I won't have internet from my abode until after the move. One week from today, I'm giving my notice. In two weeks, I'll be painting and preparing the space, packing my things. In three, I will be unpacking-- if you'd like to come by and help me unpack as a housewarming gift, I'd be all over that. I'll be decorating with my signature white lights, and I may have to go get some new cloth for the tops of the bookshelves. Maybe a shimmering purple. Something new.
Deep breath. It's time.
It's time. I'm wracking my brain for things that I don't have that I will soon need. A miniature iron. Maybe a blow-dryer. Gloves and a pair of earmuffs. I would like a rug and a cool lamp. There's a Target run in my near future, I think.
It's time. I'm taking my futon, two bookshelves, a retro-looking shelf, my fishtank, my papazan chair. There's a desk already in the space. I need to sort through my stuff-- decide which boxes of books and ephemera will remain in storage, and reorganize by priority. I've got to call the cable company to arrange internet and television. I may re-work my student loans.
It's time. I need to get away from such closed-minded views. People who think skin color and gender should dictate love, people who are comfortable in their ignorance and judgement. I would rather be actually alone than feel alienated.
It's time. I've even changed my hair. It's a dark, deep red. I wish I had a picture to show you, but I still don't have internet at my house. Likely, I won't have internet from my abode until after the move. One week from today, I'm giving my notice. In two weeks, I'll be painting and preparing the space, packing my things. In three, I will be unpacking-- if you'd like to come by and help me unpack as a housewarming gift, I'd be all over that. I'll be decorating with my signature white lights, and I may have to go get some new cloth for the tops of the bookshelves. Maybe a shimmering purple. Something new.
Deep breath. It's time.