In case you were wondering, I'd moved twice in six months. So, the fact that my roommate was moving out at the end of August, and I had to either a:find someone to move in or b: find somewhere else for me to move was a bit stressful. I'd already dealt with all of this in the past six months than I wanted to in a year. Perhaps that was why I was a bit blaise about the whole thing. I initially posted something on a rather large classifieds website and received a few potential roomies. They asked questions though, can I bring my dog, how much is electric, do you mind my three year old? I wasn't expecting questions. I was expecting someone to show up, love the place, and consequently me, and beg me to move in. That sadly, didn't happen. Instead, I ignored these e-mails and waited until two weeks prior to move out date and then began stressing. I again posted something, I posted three somethings in fact. One said I needed a roomie, another said I needed somewhere and someone to live with, and the other just asked for somewhere to live. I got a few hits from this, but they were mostly people looking for apartments. Which was fine, because ove the course of the month all of the furniture in my house began disappearing. If I wasn't aware that it all belonged to my roomie perhaps I would have been worried that we were slowly getting robbed. So, by now my apartment looked more empty than inviting and I was ready to get out of dodge.

The first place I looked at was decent. I brought my boyfriend along to scope the place out. It was a small cape with four people crammed inside, so to be honest, I'm not so sure that would have worked out, however learning that the landlord thought the same hurt. I proceeded to look at an apartment with three guys, more of the frat kind, less the kind I normally get along with. A woman who's roomie it seeemed may never leave. And a lego geek who's lease was up at the end of October, if not for that I may just have moved in. Then there were the ones I didn't get a chance to look at. The single mom who was never home, I didn't quite get the whole story, and the two gay guys who were the last place I meant to look at, but circumstances proved otherwise.

Two days prior to doomsday I had a wedding to attend. I specifically told my boyfriend to watch me, and make sure I didn't worry about moving. After all, I thought, what is worrying going to do, but make me stressed. Perhaps because of that, I went through much of the reception in a bit of a fog, a fog, that only loomed more as the night wore on. Perhaps, the fact that I had to leave early because I had work in the morning, didn't help much. The whole ride home I balled my eyes out. "What was I going to do?" I wondered, "Where was I going to go?" In only a few nights I would be, gasp, homeless.

I'm a bit ashamed now to say that I ever thought I would be homeless. After all, I had the one place I could always go, home. Though to a twenty-something like myself, sometimes that word, in the context of moving back, is a bad one. I don't think it actually hit me until doomsday that I could, or more to the point, had to go home. You see, the day before I had received my work schedule for the next two weeks. It included numerous times when I would get home from work, sleep roughly four hours, if that, and then be required back at work, yet again. I wasn't much happy there anyways, and this was the perfect incentive to leave. This was also the perfect timing to realize my dream. Ever since I graduated I'd worked a few jobs here and there, but nothing that I could see myself doing for a long period of time, and nothing even remotely related to my major. So, on that fateful day, I began thinking of moving back home, of quitting my job, of starting over. I could finally find the job I wanted, with no rent to pay, and few bills that needed my attention I could give my job search the attention it so badly deserved. And so, that's why that afternoon I called my parents and sadly asked them if I could move back.