To the Wanderers:

I feel you.

It's the cusp of the month. When I was in high school, this meant nothing. When I was in college, it meant that I would sign a check. When I was at Betsy, it meant that it was time to collect the always-too-little I'd gotten from various un-jobs and beg for the remainder from charitable souls. Now I'm just hoping I'll have someone to write a check to. I'm done with this house. Can't live here anymore. I put in my month's notice... looked for new places... kept looking... maybe found something... nope... Everything fell apart as fast as I could put it together. It was positively amusing until, oh, last week. And now my friend Lydia is going back to Connecticut, because she has no job and she fell and cracked her knee in three places like an egg. All the best-laid plans went down like eggs.

At this moment I'm waiting for a call from my friend to let me know whether or not I can take up residence in her house. To alleviate my feeling of uncertainty and abandonment, I cast my story out upon the waters of the internet. There.

Don't worry, whoever is reading this. Things will work out. Good times are a-coming. I can hear joy barreling down on me like a runaway tourist bus on Clingman.