Fulcrum

It feels like I'm on the balancing point between doing fuck-all and actually getting something substantial done.  Sure, I've got rid of some chairs, a fridge, a wardrobe, two nesting tables, and other sundry items  But there is nothing about the apartment that says "this woman is leaving" yet.  Apart from the many dresses that have died on the end of my bed because no wardrobe.

This coming week, both my cat and my apartment could be spoken for.  I'm not going to preempt disaster by believing either of these things could actually happen.  But I have someone who seriously wants to take my cat, and someone who seriously wants to take my apartment.  It would be too much to hope that the Universe would grant me both in the same week.  Actually the Universe probably doesn't give a furry fuck.

In every conversation I have at the moment, at some point I fix people with an unholy glare and ask if they need any furniture.  The amount of furniture I still have to dispose of is terrifying.  Whenever anyone comes to buy or take something from me I ask sweetly if they need anything else.  JUST TAKE MY STUFF GODDAMNIT.

I have 73 days.  It's good.  I'm fine.