Time time time

I can't believe it's almost the first day of autumn. Whatever happened to August? I feel like I'm enveloped in a fog that's holding me in an embrace which just doesn't stop. Where is my life going? I'm still alive, but what am I doing with all my minutes, hours, days? Is it just enough to breathe and put one foot in front of the other? I don't think so. But I can't seem to get up enough energy to do anything. Pandemic, anyone? 

I am planning on moving because of badass loud neighbors and neighborhood. Not every day. Not today. But enough days that make my skin rattle. But, lordamercy, have rents gone crazy! Who wants to pay $1600 month for a 2-bedroom apartment with people beside you, above you, below you, all packed into one building like ants? Houses are way out of my paycheck range. I found one apartment/townhouse complex that is reasonable on 500 acres of trees and lakes, but there's a waitlist for everything the complex offers. And the rental agents won't tell you how long the waitlist is. I'll probably be in a nursing home before they call me to tell me the townhome I want is available. 

Even thinking about moving and trying to find a place is tiring. And then there's all that packing. I have a lot of stuff gathered through my years of life. I like my stuff, but some of it will have to go.  

I hate moving, but I'm always moving. I figured out that I lived in 10 different homes from birth to 18 years old (and that's what I know - there may have been more), and at least 20 more places from 18 years old to present. I envy people who buy a house and live in it for 20, 30, 40 years. For me, after a while, a place becomes too small (even if it's more than 1600 square feet), and then it's time to move on. Maybe one day I will find my forever home. Maybe one day I will stop moving. 

Maybe.

Image by Besta