Friday, July 10, 2015
7:03 p.m.
San Francisco, California
I’m sitting on a barstool by the window at the Bean Bag Cafe on the corner of Divisidero and Hayes, sipping my $2.50 happy hour IPA. —Divis. That’s what the locals call this street. And since I live here now, I should get on board.
This is a celebratory beer! Not only because it was shockingly cheap, but also because today marks the culmination of my first working week in San Francisco, made only more amazing when it concluded with one of my favorite activites, walking home at the end of the day.—After four foggy days, the sun finally came out this afternoon, shining down on me as I walked.
Cheers, Cha Cha! Has a swig ever tasted so sweet?
But when I swallow, the aftertaste is sour, with subtle hints of uncertainty.—The month is quickly ticking away, and I still don’t have a permanent place to live. My sublet is only mine for another three weeks.
Everyone keeps telling me that it is impossible to find an apartment in San Francisco. Everyone has been wrong before. If I had listened to Everyone, I would have never left New York. So why should I believe that Everyone knows anything about this?
Of course, I can find an apartment! I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. I am practically the Queen of Craigslist.
But now is not the time to prove this point.
Now, I am exactly where I am meant to be, toasting with my financially responsible beverage to a successful first week at my new job. I have all weekend to start my apartment search. Right now, I just want to be happy with what I’ve got.—I love my new job! It’s only been a week, but already I feel like part of the team.
What else do I have?—Justin is still around. Well, as around as he can be with five hundred miles between us.
We talked again last night. When the conversation drifted to the subject of “us,” I did most of the talking, and I am proud of myself for being honest. I said, “I really do like you and care about you a lot. But I do not want a long-distance relationship.”
Is this how Chance Encounter felt when he said those things to me? Sincere, but also detached.—Wanting to have my cake and eat it too. I don’t want the cake to get hurt.
I told Justin that I don’t want to choose between him and San Francisco. He told me to stop worrying about it and that everything would work out. Which was hard to argue with, since it hasn’t happened yet. So I asked if we could change the subject. Two hours later, we said goodnight.
I’m almost done my beer, and am starting to feel a little drunk. The grip on my pen is loosening, my letters are getting loopy. I need to eat something, but after a week of dining out (read: spending money), I promised myself that I’d cook at my sublet tonight. Which means I still need to stop at the store on my way home to buy eggs, veggies, and fruit.—Dinner of champions: scrambled eggs.
Ok. Last sip and parting thoughts:
Cheers, Cha Cha! Shabbat shalom. Welcome to San Francisco. Congrats on your job. I’m so proud of you.
Keep going. Keep Cha Cha-ing. The next step is to find an apartment.
I am wishing for a room to rent that is right to write.♥︎