The past week has been very busy for me. I've taken on several things at once and the moment I finish one I'm on to the next. Finding a place/moving/finding furniture has taken priority over all the others. I've spent most of my waking moments working towards or worrying about getting a new place and enlisted the help of both A and C to help me, which is greatly needed and appreciated.
I lined up several showings last week, which were, for the most part, terrible. If anything was remotely livable it was overpriced to the point of fantasy. You want a thousand five hundred for a studio apartment with a filthy bathroom on the street with no laundry and a big hole in the wall?
I lined up several on Tuesday, certain I would like at least one of the four. No dice. One, listed as "Dreams Come True!" was a studio, filthy, hot and had a hole in the wall. Price? $995. I could tell the realtor felt like an idiot. Why are you showing me a studio when I asked for at least a one bedroom? It has a bedroom. No, it has a corner with a small wall on one side that couldn't fit a good sized bed. Fuck you for wasting my time. You're a parasite. You're a professional liar that lives to screw people over and steal their money. Realtors are now on the same level as divorce lawyers and pedophile priests. You prey on people and that's all you do.

I don't need you. I can find a place on my own. You need me. Don't give me that bullshit about how business is drying up for you. I don't care about your problems. The way you do business you should starve. You don't do anything to help people.

J must have been feeling lonelier than usual this week and has been texting me or calling daily. We talked for a bit and I told her about the realtor and she said I should understand because he's a salesman and to understand his side. So are heroin dealers. Fuck him. Not sure what to do about J. She wants me to move back which is about as likely as my moving to Indonesia. Going back would be like going back to elementary school. I wouldn't be able to go back to who I was or what I did, I couldn't even imagine it and to think I would just forget all that happened this year and all I gave up. No fucking way.

Woke up very tired and stressed today. All I could think about was getting a new place and worried I would have to do the couch tour between friends while storing my stuff. I told my roommate I was moving out and he got frantic about finding a roommate. I wasn't that concerned. Surprised he didn't see it coming though. Did he think I'd live here forever? This was a temporary thing from the first day. I even told him that before I moved in. I didn't worry too much since I thought it would take him months to find a roommate and I could take my time.

Miracle of miracles, he found one in a week. I met him briefly. The guy is 48 and had to move out because his roommate is getting married. Who are these people? If I have to run between roommates when I'm 48 please kill me. I'm doing all I can to save money to buy a place so I won't have to put up with that bullshit. How can you live with a roommate at that age? I can't even stand it now. I wonder how they'll get along. Won't be around to see it though.

The place I saw today was between A and C. I can walk to both but it's on the better side of the neighborhood; quiet but close enough to walk to everything. I would have taken it immediately but I have three places lined up tomorrow so I decided it's better to see more than just wonder. C went with me to see the place and knew the realtor from when she was looking for a place. They got along great and said he's a stand up guy. After earlier in the week I was skeptical but I trust her. I told him to hold it and I most likely will take the place but want to wait a day to think about it. Odds are very likely I will move in there which will be a huge relief.

Got a new book earlier this week- Broken Summers by Henry Rollins. My favorite writers evoke a lot from me. I get depressed or anxious, angry or sick after reading their stuff. Hubert Selby is one that does this most often. Rollins is a strange character. His stuff can either be really self indulgent that it's almost funny and a lot of it feels so visceral and so real that I begin to see things as he does. I know all these things but can't dwell on them. At one time I did and I was a miserable person. You deal with what you can change, deal with yourself and try to ignore the rest. Ignore the horrible shit that is everywhere else. You can't do anything with it. It's always been here and will be here long after I'm gone. It's too accepted, too welcomed that to disagree with it makes you the strange one.



There's a lot of bullshit, a lot of people living on fast food, bad tv, suckered by liars, liars that thrive on hurting others and destroying people that all you can do is ignore it if you want to live your life. I see people that take guns and mow people down or bomb crowds of innocent people and know they just couldn't look away. They became part of the bullshit and made it worse. No one will listen to them and no one cares so they become part of the evil they rant against.

That's what I get for reading Rollins. I get very angry and frustrated. It does compel me to do all I can with all I have. For that reason I've been going nonstop; reading, making plans, working, looking for a place, writing, helping friends out. I get a lot done when I don't fuck around. I'm tired of fucking around. Here's where we'll end tonight.