I just got a call from my landlord...I have to be out of my apartment this weekend!
He didn't even care that I was sick. He wants me out. Now.
So in addition to being at death's door (arrrgh, no more violin playing, Cliff), I need to clean, fix, and pack up all my stuff.
But at least I've got a place to go. Across the hall. I'm moving from apartment 3 to apartment 4. Away from the noise of Fulton Street (though I will miss the spark of the electric bus at night), away from the Southern exposure that turns a beautiful 70s day into an inferno as the mid-day sun cranks things up, and away from a layout that requires you walk through my bedroom to get to the kitchen (the new apartment has the same layout, but they extended the hallway and opened a door from the kitchen to resolve this).
Yeah, this eviction is a good thing. Self-induced, even, but the call caught me off guard. Thought they would give me at least a week to get my poo together before moving day...
Anyway, so much to do, so little time, so little energy. But it's energizing nonetheless. Yes, my rent is going up a bit ($250/month), but I haven't had a rent increase since I moved in so it was going to go up anyway. And the best part? There's something of a view from my living room window...I can even see the Golden Gate Bridge...and my neighbor (who moved to a golf course in Palm Desert) said that sometimes, late at night, you can hear the fog horns. Oh man, there's nothing as melancholy and mournful as the sound of the fog horns...I love it!
I'll likely collapse into a pile of quivering jelly on Monday, but I guess it can't be helped. Sometimes you get what you ask for.