two weeks.
two weeks until the end.
two weeks until the trap door opens.
two weeks until i might be,
well,
homeless.

what do you do when the countdown to your next chapter feels more like a ticking time bomb than a fresh start?

i refuse to be the fox living out of his shoes…

if i could pick a font to describe my anxiety right now,
it’d be “on fire” in bold + italics.
none of this could’ve come at a worse time:

right in the middle of transition,
in that uncomfortable space between “what was” and “what’s next.”

the funny thing is almost everyone i talk and font to seems to be there too.
many people without jobs,
the pending doom of their benefits being taken away,
or working for free/furloughed with this long standing government shutdown.
not quite where we want to be; far from where we used to be.
we are all trying to survive the gap between:

deadline—(insert us here)—the dream

this “in-between” place of adulting is exhausting.
we are expected to swim while the water’s rising,
but somehow look calm and IG ready while doing it.
i’m drained.
completely.

…but even backed in the corner,
somehow,
God is giving me the strength to keep swinging.

i’ve been making some calls but nothing as of yet.
God,
i’m available for a miracle.

lowkey: as long as you all have followed and supported,
we have seen our fair share of shit happen in my life.
i try to hold onto the idea of when things fall apart,
it’s actually when things have fallen together.
sometimes,
in the most supernatural of ways.
its always scarier than the last time tho.