Page 3 of Definitely Not a Thing

Only because of the way the rest of the day had been going was I concerned about what the apartment was going to look like. I’d lived in the building for six months already, and before that, had been coming and going and staying over with my ex for years.

Two, to be precise.

It wasn’t a perfect building by any means –The Foundrywas historic, and constantly being renovated, with the style of each unit controlled by whoever rented the place at the time. The concept was actually quite cool, and one of the reasons I’d been sad to move out.

Besides the wholerelationship of two years going kaputof it all.

I wassupposedto be moving into a gorgeous restored townhouse though.

I wouldbe moving into that gorgeous restored townhouse.

In three months.

Surely I could avoidoneman in a ten-unit building for three months, right?

Inside the apartment, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the unit’s previous tenant had kept with lots of the original features – exposed brick, exposed ceiling beams, plaster walls. Back then those choices had been money-saving moves rather than aesthetic choices, but it was beautifully on trendnow.

It wasn’t my townhouse, but it would do just fine.

I took a look around, checking faucets, switches, hinges, drains, corners and crevices, making sure everything worked as it should and that I wouldn’t have any surprise wildlife encounters. Once I was satisfied with that, I plopped down on the hardwood of my temporary living room, with my box. Using my keys as a knife, I popped the tape and began removing the things I’d determined I would need for the night without having to unpack the van.

A change of clothes.

Toiletries.

Blow-up mattress.

Linens.

Chargers for my electronics.

My laptop.

My journal and pen.

A few bottles of water.

Snacks.

Anything else I might need was either already in the truck I’d borrowed or another quickProxyorder away thanks to the cell phone in my pocket.

I spent the next thirty minutes showering and getting comfortable, then the thirty after that setting up my little spot on the floor, then checking in on work items I’d been unfortunatelyneglecting. Proxy itself was my baby, a whole small – but succesfull!—business I was responsible for. The last week of my life had been spent in a tailspin – one I needed to re-route before it veered too far off course.

Which… obviously easier said than done.

Especially when…

Shit.

Was I really about to admit to myself, finally, that I was actually…

…hurt?

Oh.

Okay.

According to the sudden, fresh prickle of tears in my eyes… yes.