An Apartment, a Movie, and a Book

I saw a really nice apartment today. It's a lot of money, but I'm pretty sure a place this nice would normally be even more expensive. I'm still looking at other places, but I'm leaning toward this one, partly because it's nice, with everything I want, in a good neighborhood (Southport and Addison), and I just want to be done looking at apartments! I know I'm not going to escape paying at least $800, because I decided I for sure want a one-bedroom. Yes, I choose loneliness over being annoyed, and I feel I will be happy with this choice. I don't get annoyed that easily. In fact, I probably annoy you a lot faster than you annoy me, really. How late was I the last time I was supposed to meet you somewhere? ...Exactly.

I have now tripled my number of enemies. Yes, they have gone from one (the fellow teacher who stabbed me in the back--that was not a fun lesson to learn about workplace politics: TRUST NO ONE (or was that the X-Files?)) to three. The new additions are the two maintenance people who took my green conference chair away. I wasn't planning on keeping them as enemies--it's not like I go looking for enemies. It's just that every time I see them, my stomach clenches up and my face goes stony and my eyes get a little beady. I try not to let it show, but I can't help it. Such is the depth of my non-gratitude (there should be a word for that. Rejection?).

I am trying to be witty and endearing, but it's hard! I've had a rough couple of days. Migraines on Saturday and Tuesday. No fun. Being temporarily blind sucks big time. It gives you a panicky feeling, as you can imagine. Speaking of, I just saw Ray on cable (yay for Christy and John's apartment-o-wonders) and it made me think a lot about what that would be like. To go blind, not get addicted to heroin. Although it did give us a good idea of that, too. Hey, if you want to have the pants scared off you as far as not doing any scary drugs like heroin, read A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. True story, this 20-something guy wakes up from a two-day bender, bleeding from a gaping hole in his cheek, on an airplane. Doctors tell him he's done so many different drugs for so long that if he does even one hit more of anything else, his heart will probably stop and he'll die. He then goes on to tell you, bit by gory bit, of his experience in rehab. Funny story of how I heard of the book. . . last summer, my friend Ellen and I went to Italy. When we got to this one hostel, there was a girl checking in who didn't have a room. We told her she could stay with us. I noticed her book (yes, you're so smart; it was, in fact, the above-mentioned A Million Little Pieces) and asked her what it was about. She told me how good it was, that I could look at it while she took a shower, but that she was in the middle of it and I couldn't have it! Well, long story short, over the 2 days we all shared a room, I hijacked it every moment she wasn't reading it (I swear I always asked first), and then when we got home the first thing I did (after eating some good old American cereal and watching "Friends"), I had to check it out of the library to finish it. The next day I gave it to my mom and sister and they both devoured it in a day each. (I like when people say devoured for a book. You know it's got to be good if people are devouring it. Like watermelon. Something that's so good you don't care how much of a mess you make). So anyway, there you go.

I need to go. Better blogginess tomorrow.