because sometimes you do it for fun, and other times you do it to not die

I am very distracted at work today, and the source of my distraction is this: I am homeless.

I don't mean that in any literal sense, of course. I have more homes than I know what to do with. There's one in West Hartford, and one in Chatham, and of course there's the one I go home to every night in Brighton. But that last one is temporary, you see. It stops being mine on August 31st. And, despite efforts to the contrary, I have not yet secured a replacement. In 20 days I'm moving, only I don't know to where yet.

Some part of my brain is, understandably, totally preoccupied with that notion. It nags at me while I try and do my reading, urging me to get back on CraigsList or frantically call realtors (all of whom will only take my call during business hours, better known as the period in time when I am here at work, along with everyone else in my time zone.) So I squeeze in these phone calls on my lunch break and at the tail end of my day, and I hope.

I know I will get this figured out. I drove out to Hyde Park the other day to actually look at a place, and ended up rejecting it for various reasons. If the situation was really dire, I would have taken it regardless of its flaws. There are still places available, studios in my price range that aren't in the middle of nowhere, and I will make the time to acquire one before the month is out. Absolute worst case scenario my uncle has a house in Needham I could conceivably stay at for a week or two -- not that I anticipate needing that failsafe, its just a comfort to know its there.

But it bothers me not to have the housing situation taken care of yet. It makes me nervous and twitchy.

Now I'm going to lunch.