Tuesday morning, I called the office and was told, much to my shock and horror, that there indeed was no kitchen or fridge. I was renting only a room and a common bathroom. I told them I couldn’t live without an icebox at least, and cancelled the room. I then hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and…
“ “
let out the biggest, loudest silent scream I could manage. After a few minutes tamping down my rage, I thought of the refugees of the world; Syrians, Yemeni, Ecuadorian… and how they live in tents without even bathrooms, never mind fridges. Saddened but calm, I went downstairs and extended my hostel stay for a few more days; as long as I could afford, and went back to looking for a room.
On the last day before what seemed my inevitable homelessness, I found what looked like the perfect room. But having been there before and having met with a disastrous end, I kept my hopes in check. The room was on the ground level, in a nice house in a good neighborhood, large and furnished. I filled out another application, this time free, and was told by the guy I would hear from him the next day. Having no place else to go, headed to the nearest Starbucks.
And that was where I stayed until the next afternoon. Although, I slept outside between 10:30 pm and 5:30 am, since Starbucks was closed during those hours. I spent the bulk of the day trying to contact the guy, but he never answered his phone.
I know, I know, this has gone on for fucking ever. Suffice it to say, if it wasn’t for one of two friends I had made in Buffalo, and her kind, generous heart, I’d be screwed. After a couple of more days, I suddenly get a call from dad, to whom I hadn’t spoken in more than six years, asking me to go live with him in Virginia. Having absolutely no other options, I accepted and was on my way two days later.
And that is where I am right now, and why I hadn’t posted anything in ages.
Aren’t you glad you waited?