Steady Roll The Tears

Get. It. Together.

Okay, I don’t mind helping out people when they need help. Lord knows how many peeps have crashed in my apartment and how many more will continue to. Hell, I’m still storing my friend’s stuff (admittedly, including his very nice TV) and he said he was going to get that all out in June. I don’t care, it’s all good to me, etc. etc. etc.

But I’m moving apartments in a couple of days, and the idea of moving a year’s worth of stuff out (the last time I had to move was last August) and then setting up shop in the span of a day? It’s overwhelming, and I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the immensity of the move, and yes, the other apartment’s only two fucking blocks away so you’d think I could just get my shit together and figure it out

but when I got home today to learn that my work ID had somehow fallen off my keychain when I lent my keys to my friend so she could move her and another friend’s stuff out of my apartment, and then I went into the bathroom and I didn’t have any more toilet paper and no one had thought to replace it and then I remembered how no one, out of all of my roommates and out of all the people who have walked into my apartment and finished up the toilet paper, has ever replaced the empty roll

and the thoroughly abused burgundy bathmats from my twice previous roommate were looking up at me and saying “Hey, join us, you’re a floormat just like us, letting all these things happen to you” and I wanted to scream because of course this would happen, of course I’d lose my ID the day before my last day of work and there wasn’t any toilet paper and then I wanted to laugh because what am I doing, getting worked up over toilet paper of all things

and then I started to cry. I put the lid of my toilet seat down, grabbed the last scrap of paper clinging to the cardboard roll, clutched it in my hands, and sobbed.

(Image: My Own Time by Andrea Hübner, via razorshapes)


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