So I think it's time for me to get a job. I forgot how smoothly I run when I'm stress out.
The anxiety is high but SHIT GETS DONE! Like my world is trying to fall apart on me but I'm eerily calm about it all. Usually the Man is the one who finds us the place to live when we need a new dwelling but this time he had no time for that. And while the place I have an eye on is not a palatial abode it will save us money (something I have trouble doing) and maybe we can find something more permanent down the road. Or not, whatev.
I'm not gonna sweat it. If I never own my own home I don't care. I'll be paying the equivalent of rent for the rest of my life so six of one half dozen of the other right?
Cynical? or Realistic? I leave it to you to ponder.
