I had a lot of things that I wanted to talk about today, but all of that just got pushed aside. I found a place, you see. It’s not in Brooklyn but in a part of Queens that is very near to Brooklyn. The place is nice, and while it’s unfurnished, the asking price (by NYC standards, anyway) is fairly reasonable. So what am I upset about? Simple: I’m getting cleaned out. My roommate told me that the move-in fee was $1700. I paid, he gave me the keys, and I told him I’d move my things in on the 1st. Yesterday, he called me to let me know that since he’s only just moved in and the two of us will be signing the lease together, we owe the realtor $1500 in broker’s fees or some such bullshit. It sounds fishy, but I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth. For one thing, he straight-up admitted that he didn’t mention that before he’d cashed my check because former prospective roommates had been scared away when he’d told them. Should I respect him for owning up to being such a little weasel? I think not. You see, I might have moved in anyway if he’d told me about this. He’s offered to pay $1000 out of that $1500, so assuming that he can produce the paperwork to back this up, I might write him that check, even though it will almost completely empty my bank account. With the paychecks I’ve got coming and the security deposit from the place I’m moving out of, I should have enough to make next month’s rent, assuming no more unforeseen catastrophes arise. Beyond that, I have no idea.
Some people from my program graduated and started traveling. Others started at jobs that they’d had lined up since the spring semester. I just kept working my student job, which ends this Friday because I am no longer a student. I was hoping that I’d have something to show for all of my efforts, that while everyone else was seeing the world and living it up, I might at least have some savings or a full-time job to replace the one I’m leaving. I have neither. What I have is a living situation with somebody I don’t like very much and a father who will send me money if I ask for it (which I’ve already done multiple times). They say that something that seems too good to be true probably is, but this apartment didn’t look too good to be true, it looked good enough. I guess even that was too much to ask.
I get very tired of hearing old people reminisce about how quickly youth goes by. They talk about how much faster time moves as you get older, and that by the time you’re 70, the years all blur together as you hurtle right into the grave. Excuse me if I find that almost too depressing to contemplate. I like to think that by the time I’m a senior citizen (and I will live to be that old, because there is one thing that I am not, and that is easy to get rid of), I will have developed the patience and self-awareness necessary to take every day as it comes, so that time doesn’t speed by, it moves at just the right pace. Patrick Stewart is 73, bald, and still sexy as hell. We should all aspire to be like him.
My summer was pretty dull. I hung out with about five people, masturbated a lot, and failed to accomplish anything of interest. So don’t worry about me, because I’m pretty sure that if I jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, only a dozen or so people would even notice. My time at grad school feels like it was barely even real; this summer feels like it happened to me whether I liked it or not. As of now, I don’t even have someone to help me move in, so I’ll have to haul my bookshelf up the stairs by myself (that, or hope a random passerby stops to help). I knew we would all graduate and go our separate ways, but I didn’t think it would happen quite this quickly. Just once, I’d like to plan my finances for the next few weeks or months and have everything go according to plan. See, it’s nice to have a rainy day fund, but when your primary source of income is a $10/hour job that isn’t even full-time, you have to depend, up to a point, on people not extorting you. I’ve had to tighten my belt already, but the Flying Spaghetti Monster decided I hadn’t suffered enough.
On a side note, when I told Greenpeace that I was cancelling my membership, they sent me an email with the subject line, “But the honeybees will be sad if you cancel!” I think that’s kind of funny. Greenpeace gets shit on a lot, but I think they’re one of those organizations that means well, even if their methods are sometimes laughable. I was signed up for membership by a canvasser, fittingly enough. I don’t regret that. I like being a tree-hugger.
I was going to talk about Douglas Adams and the guilty pleasure I take in crappy fantasy, but I just don’t have the time or the energy to do that right now. At the moment, it’s all on me. I have no prospects for a job, no money, and I’m about to sign a one-year lease with somebody I intensely dislike simply because the alternative is moving back to California, and fuck that. Make no mistake: I deserve better. Much, much, much better. And if you think I don’t, I’m coming for you.