As of July, I'll be living in Jamaica Plain.
It's occurred to me that I've probably never had a real home since moving out of my family's over ten years ago. I'm hoping this finally changes.
The day I dropped off a deposit to the landlords, I walked to the VA and timed how long it took me. Less than twenty minutes on my own two feet. Sweet bliss. CT3 bus, I will not miss you. E train, I'll spend more time mocking you as I need you much less now.
It'll be cool if I can get the bulk of the roommate poems I've been working on finished by then.
I wonder what my writing will be like with nobody crazy or annoying living with me and urging me on.
Southie, I really tried to stay, but I am finally too tired of you to try.
My landlord was a saint to let me live in the apartment for six months at a third of the rent, trying to find two people to move in.
I don't more who was more misguided. Him for letting me, or me for honestly trying.
My best prospect was a social worker who made eight hundred a month and, to reassure the landlord, told him she just got on food stamps.
You start to learn what racism and unhealthy fear is when a potential roommate, who just got back from Africa as part of the peace corps, says once you open the door, "Wow, you live near section eight housing!"
A group of teenagers telling the MBTA staff that somone was taking a dump at an entrance of the Andrew Square T stop counts as one of the two greatest things I experienced during Saint Patrick's Day in Southie.
The other thing was someone threatening me because he almost spilled bear on me.
Both things happened as I was trying to avoid South Boston during Saint Patrick's Day.
Except for two times, I was successful otherwise.
I'll miss the pizza places. I'm at least sure of that.
Not sure what else I'll miss.
Someone, according to Yahoo!, has been doing searches involving "Chad Parenteau" and "roommate." If this is you, which old roomie are you?
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