Movin...

As if finals, transferring schools, and working weren’t enough to deal with Jeff and I are moving in together!!! This is certainly a bright spot in the midst of the angst and sadness I’ve felt over having to leave PCOM. I am ecstatic to share my life, my whole life with him. Of course there is one lil catch. Renting in Chicago just got way more challenging than we had ever expected. People said things. They said that renting had become quite competitive because no one is buying. They said to start early, bring a pay stub, and be prepared to make split second decisions. I didn’t exactly believe any of this because I didn’t want to. I had never ever had a problem with finding an apartment. Until now when I felt like I’m making one of the more major decisions in my life. Visions of my twenty three year old self float through my mind. She is walking through the streets of London with her friend Robert exclaiming how she’s never going to live with someone before being married. “Why?” Robert asks. “Why wouldn’t you want to know how to share a living space with someone you’re going to spend the rest of your life with?” “It spoils the surprise of marriage!” Miss Twenty Three retorts thinking he’s outside of his mind. “I fully believe that God won’t let me enter something that huge without it being “right”.” she adds. Today at thirty I still believe that God won’t steer me down the wrong path. However. Yes. I want to know how to share living space with my dear sweet love. I felt I came to a similar path several years ago. I had lived alone for five years, and started to think before I got any older, I may need to learn to know what it’s like to live with another human. My reasoning for not finding a roommate once I left my parent’s house at nineteen was because I knew once I was home from work, I wanted silence. I didn’t want to answer to anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone and wanted any mess that was present to be mine and mine alone. This worked out very well. I really enjoyed being by myself. I got to be social all day with my clients and co-workers. I went out at night after I turning twenty one and came home alone making whatever noise I wanted to. I sometimes went to bed late, sometimes early. I woke up whenever I felt like it when I wasn’t expected at work. I listened to Coldplay so much that to this day when I hear the album “A Rush of Blood to the Head” I am instantly transported to the year 2002 in that tiny apartment holding on to dreams of moving to San Francisco. I watched the news on my ancient TV I had had since I was thirteen. Triscuits and cheese were often dinner, ice cream was for breakfast on more occasion than I care to admit. Grocery shopping gave me a secret thrill being I could have whatever I wanted. After a couple of years I moved to a bigger apartment. It was fancier than my previous one. I abandoned my dreams of moving to San Fran, and a year later quit my job in favor of a smaller salon. During this time I had also decided that I needed to learn to live with another human so I didn’t get “weird” or become some kind of kooky cat lady. My best friend Kat bought a condo and a short while later, I was her roommate. This worked out swimmingly. Living with Kat was lovely. We had the same ideas on everything except for air conditioning. I wanted to blast it, she however did not but we managed. Since then I’ve lived with a plethora of people and it’s been mostly good. The not so good ones have made for entertaining stories. The itch to share the intimate details of my home life with a significant other has been ever increasing. My ex-boyfriend Charlie mentioned it shortly after we met. Panic filled my chest as I wasn’t sure I could do that or that I even wanted to. With Jeff there is no panic, only joy and an irritating fear of not finding a place… “You guys won’t be homeless.” One of my clients pointed out. Of course I know this, but the not knowing of where exactly we’ll be and when we’ll find this place is eating me alive. “No one is responding to my emails on craigslist!” I exclaimed to Jeff one night. “I don’t understand!” We were sitting on his bed with his laptop open combing through various apartment ads. He didn’t have any answers either. I picked up the phone and called a woman about her coach house, leaving a message. One guy did respond though. He wanted to show a two bedroom near Jeff’s apartment. I couldn’t make it but Jeff could. He sent me a text later saying it was too small for what they were asking for it. A few days later I went to look at a one bedroom but it was rented before the guy could give us an application. Back to the drawing board… I felt like I was becoming a bona fide stalker in contacting people. I was getting to work early so I could comb ads. I sent countless emails, called several people who posted their numbers and nothing. I was becoming so obsessed with my email inbox that I told myself it was time for a break. I didn’t take a break though out of fear that I’d miss something. Several of my co-workers were moving and were all up against the same issues. Dana found a place up north from riding her bike around the area. I was instantly jealous when she turned in her application. My manager Amy also found a place for October. Was I doing something wrong? One day I opened an ad for two bedroom in Wicker Park. I instantly recognized the email address attached to the ad. It was my landlord’s. Hmmm… the place wasn’t available until October first. We needed to move September first. I kept searching. Despite the searching I couldn’t stop thinking about that ad. What could it hurt to ask my landlord if we could have it early? Maybe the tenants wouldn’t mind leaving early. Maybe they would. It couldn’t hurt to ask. I sent off a quick email and hoped for the best. In the past when I’ve looked for places I’ve just “known” something about them. I’ve “known” that those places I’ve had that “feeling” about are “it”. I didn’t feel that with this place but the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about it meant something to me. Before leaving work, I checked my email for the thousandth time. Nothing. Frustrated I logged out and went home.

Finals, finals, finals and...The End!

“In forty eight hours this will be over.” One of my clients said to me as I was finishing his hair. I was explaining my anxiety over my math exam. The final is sixty percent of my grade so yeah no pressure but I have to pass. I’m really not sure I’ve ever passed a math final. Still, I stayed relatively optimistic because like he said, it’s going to end and I’ll never have to think about it again. The exam was only ten questions which was great because it didn’t take forever to complete it. On the flip side, should I miss one, that’s an instant ten point deduction. Anyway, it came and went. I had no feelings of anxiety like I usually do. I simply accepted that I knew what I knew and that was that. Dana had helped me earlier in the week. I had studied on my own some and felt that whatever was going to happen was going to happen. “Do you want to see your grade before the exam?” my teacher asked as I turned in my completed test. “Sure.” He typed something on his laptop and turned it so I could see it. “You have an eighty one going in.” “Wow. Thank you.” I replied, remaining oddly emotionless. I walked away, packing up my things and left. On Thursday I had to take my Swedish Massage final. There is an odd number of students in that class. When I took my midterm I had to work on one person with another person and I didn’t like it. To make sure that didn’t happen again, I asked Rich if I could bring Jeff to which he replied yes. I was thrilled for Jeff to be there, to see what I do for nine hours a week in that building, and for him to meet Rich. Nothing much was said though because all we had to do was give a massage and leave. Of course the day I bring Jeff in there is an even number of people. I worked on him anyway being one of the girls was 20 minutes late to class. I put a little more into working on him than most other people I’ve encountered. The same thing happens when I cut his hair. It’s nice to extend this part of myself to him. Once I finished, he left and the girl who came in late worked on me. I’m really going to miss this class. Getting a relaxing massage at the end of a long day once a week is epic! I later fell into bed happy to have two exams down and one to go. The next morning I had craniosacral therapy with Rich again. His written exams are usually multiple choice. He told us this one would be open-note which sounded great until I saw that the exam was essay style. I nearly quit in the middle of it. I felt I couldn’t write anymore. My brain was mush, my hands didn’t feel like pushing the pen anymore and I just wanted to be outside. I hated that I had to leave this experience. I hated that I was misinformed and had to scramble to fix that by applying to another school that wasn’t nearly as kind as this one on a daily basis. I hated that I no longer cared much about something I was once so passionate about being I wasn’t going to be practicing as a massage therapist. I stopped writing. I took off my glasses and sighed. I stared at the blurry image of the window in front of me. Sometimes I’m amazed at how little I can actually see without my glasses. I often wonder what’s going to happen when I need reading glasses. Am I going to be legally blind? Another sigh escaped me before I reminded myself that I couldn’t just quit now. I’d be so embarrassed if I turned in a half completed exam simply because I “didn’t feel like finishing it.” I put my glasses back on my face and got back to it. Once we finished the written portion we had to complete a practical portion. This included giving a treatment to each other. For the first time ever, as I was being worked on I felt something bubble up and threaten to release but I mentally smacked it down, refusing to feel anything. I didn’t want an emotional release. I just wanted to relax and have this end soon. When everything was completed I turned in my final telling Rich I’d see him soon for a treatment. I made a mental note to make good on that and book an appointment soon. I left the building rather quickly feeling odd that I have quite the attachment to this whole experience. It’s not like I’m quitting the whole thing, just taking yet another path, and trying to remain open to wherever that will lead…