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So, you know, things have been a bit stressful. On top of that, I did 3 fundraising shows in a week, went to Maryland and back, debuted two new versions of different acts, and packed a truly insane amount of stuff. If I were someone who stress bit my nails, I wouldn't have fingers left. Instead, my depression and anxiety ran riot for several weeks. And as the movers loaded up the truck they asked, hopefully, "Your new place is bigger, yes?"
It isn't.
I worried I'd made a huge mistake, locked us into a place that just wouldn't work for us, and it would be a disaster for months or years as I tried to get it all to work. I spent several hours alone cleaning the war zone of our old apartment. Then I took the subway alllllllll the way uptown, bracing myself for the disaster of our new apartment.
But then I opened the door and I was home.
Yeah, it's not painted, and it's basically a box mountain, but I walked in and felt *right.* Johnny was there and my best friend Sarah (who now lives a 20 minute walk away) was there, and we ordered AMAZING tacos from a place that is across the street and open 24/7. And then I slept well for the first time in a month and a half.
Maybe it's the sleep talking but I really feel like I made the right decision.