So yeah, it’s been awhile since Sunday’s crisis. When the tears had abated and the migraine was taking a firm hold, I decided that moving to the apartment was actually not a good idea, but I decided to sleep on it, and then the next day I drove Thing Two to Bavaria and was afk until Thursday but that’s a whole-nother story. This post is about the apartment.
I’m not taking it. It’s too much to deal with right now. Moving twice. Figuring out internet and utilities and whatever-the-hell-else. Everybody said it’d be good to have my own space to set up as I like, but the damn thing is fulla butt-ugly furniture that I can’t put in storage and anyway, setting up a whole apartment is definitely more than I can imagine myself handling right now. It’s all just. Too. Much.
The shared housing will do until I can get my feet back under me and figure out what kind of life I want, now that the life I thought I was going to have has been handed to a fluffy little side-chick. “Keep moving forward” is bad advice when you don’t know where you want to go.
I really wish I’d decided this before Mr. Husband signed the rental agreement, and I recognize that it was a very expensive mistake, but you know what? My life has taken a MAJOR FUCKING TURN WITHOUT MY CONSENT and anybody who expects me to make grown-up responsible normal-person decisions after I checked myself out of a fucking psych ward because it was too stressful and am still figuring out my meds? Deserves to lose a couple thousand bucks.