have you ever noticed how life seems to get the loudest right before the home stretch?
for the last few months,
i’ve been counting down the days until i could finally have my own space again.
a mix of anxious but excited energy flowing through me.
i kept telling myself:

“just make it to the finish line.”
you’re almost there.”

and time went by quick but well:

the finish line decided to move.

and Foxhole,
it has me BEYOND exhausted…

my official move-in date is the 10th,
but because the person i’m staying with is moving on the 8th,
i asked where i’m going if i could move in two days early.
after a lot of back and forth,
i was finally told:

“yes.”

cool!
i started putting the “i’m outta here bitches!” pieces together in my head,
but then i get a message yesterday:

“actually,
you can’t move in until the 10th.”

wait………….

what?!?!

the issue isn’t where i’ll sleep for those two days.
it’s my furniture.

where does it go?
who’s holding it?
how am i supposed to move everything twice in a 48-hour window?

every time i try to explain that,
i feel like i’m talking to a brick wall.
that’s what’s been draining me the most lately.
it’s never just one thing in this final lap.

another email.
another phone call.
another delay.
another obstacle.
another fuckin’ nosy ass question i refuse to answer.

i’m not asking for life to be perfect,
well that’s a lie but,
but i am asking for this chapter to end without the devil’s ashy ass feets on my neck.
these last two weeks have tested my patience,
my faith,
and honestly:

my mental health.

you spend months thinking the hardest part is climbing the mountain.
nobody tells you the last few steps can feel like the steepest.
i just keep reminding myself:

the finish line is still the finish line.

…even if the road keeps trying to convince me otherwise.