At the moment I'm definately over everything. The past few weeks have been so hectic, so busy, so full on that I really feel like I'm living someone elses shitty life because any remnant that was mine is completely gone. I'm fucking sick of moving, I'm sick of packing, everything just seems like one more thing I have to do.
This morning I woke up, took a look around at all the boxes in my house and seriously considered setting the whole fucking place on fire and going back to the US. I'm not joking. I wish I were joking and the only reason I'm writing it in here is to keep me from actually doing it. Because at themoment, there's little I would find more gratifying.
I'm homesick, I'm tired, I'm stressed out and poor. Very poor. Paying double rent for the past month and now hiring a removalist and paying my bond on a new place before I get this one back, and paying off my ticket to NY is all making my account run very thin. The only blessing is that I've stopped eating and am surviving pretty much on the canapes and dinners from all the bloody events I have to go to. At least its saving me on groceries. Finger food and champers. But even now I've gotten over being hungry.
And this weekend was so weird, I can't even go into the things that happened this weekend because I can't risk writing anything in here anymore. But it's pretty fucked. Not really in a bad way, just in really strange world sort of way. One day I'll tell the story. But even that sort of feels like it'll just be one more thing to deal with.
I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday who said that moving is considered one of the most stressful things to go through in your life, right up with getting married, changing jobs, breakups and divorcing and death in the family. Well in two years, I've moved twice, changed job, had death in my family and pretty much divorced.
Can't believe I'm still alive. I think when I go home to yankee land I will disappear for awhile.