Yick

A poor night's sleep leaves me raw and ragged in every possible sense...I can feel it in my mind, my emotions, my intestines. Moving is unsettling by definition. I slept on the living room floor of my new apartment last night, while the girl who's moving out blew lines of coke and literally ran around the place, washing dishes and doing laundry until dawn.

My belongings sit underneath the apartment in the storage area, wrapped in boxes and bags. My clothes and camping gear for the weekend are strewn about in my car...I'll have to go outside at lunch today to pack them. My vacant studio apartment still needs cleaning.

It doesn't feel like a good weekend for a trip.

I would never have scheduled this weekend's journey had I known the move would happen this weekend. Coke Girl previously planned to be out June first, then mid-June, onto the 28th, and now...July 3rd. Something tells me the space she's leaving will still be cluttered with garbage and grime when I come back to claim it as my home.

I hate my attitude right now. Some combination of anxiety, guilt, anger. I just can't shake the feeling that going out of town this weekend is a bad move. Why can't I just relax? Too tired, I guess...