The Hunt for Bed Spot, Sober

4 Jul

9am: Wake up, realize you have nowhere to live in a month. Panic.

9:30: Wake back up. Realize you have nowhere to live in a month and have now wasted thirty minutes. Run around screaming. Trip over cat. Eat Pop-Tart in one bite.

Oh my god, Y'all, what if they made these?!

10:00am: Email 40 people about the possibility of moving in with them. Include following phrase:

“I realize trying to find a share in New York City with two cats is like trying to find a date with leprosy (not that I’m against leprosy, should you have leprosy. I’m leprosy-friendly), but my ex-boyfriend…. ahem…. left them here?  And they’re really cute, I swear.”

10am-1pm: paint over ex-boyfriend’s unfinished brick mural so your landlord won’t kill you

2pm: Receive two interested responses. One of them is a psychic. One of them has a friend in the ASPCA who can help you “take care” of the cats.

2:05pm: Panic

Not this kind of Panic.

2:15pm: Realize cats have gotten paint all over themselves. Reconsider ASPCA guy’s offer.

3pm: Go see psychic’s apartment. She says she loves cats. There is a 2-foot long flypaper hanging from the kitchen ceiling. The color of the bathroom is indiscernible under interlocking starbursts of black mold. She has chosen the medium-sized room not for the rent, but because of its energy. Back out slowly.

4pm: Fear that bathrooms that have been seen cannot be unseen. Go for a long run so that one day you’ll be hungry again.

5:30pm: Visit ASPCA guy’s apartment. It is perfect and amazing and he even has containers of flour and sugar and trail mix in his kitchen. But you have cats. Scowl.

6-9pm: Finish painting apartment. Realize you have a freelance article to write. Make apricot jell-o instead.

10pm: Blog about not being able to find an apartment.

10:15pm: Panic.

*cork popping out of wine bottle*


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