Don’t Stress Me Out
Packing stresses me out. It’s not like I have a lot of things. I have a fair amount, certainly not a small amount, but it’s pretty average for a bi-coastal fella (everytime I say “bi-coastal,” I snicker).
It’s just that, this is my life I’m looking at. Everything that I own (which isn’t very much), is laid out in front of me. I am made of H & M clothes, used books and way too many DVD’s. Of course I am worth more than that, but to literally see all of my possessions in one pile, more mound I suppose, it’s overwhelming.
I found an amazing apartment (I haven’t seen it yet, but my new roomie is fantastic, and my friend Bryan has seen it, so I feel pretty safe in saying it’s amazing).
I get to start over now. A new location. A new friend. A new bed. It’s moments like this in life that typically just float on by, it’s greatness missed on the stress of the situation. I often say, whenever I’m nervous about a performance or something, that it wouldn’t be real if I weren’t nervous. The anxiety is part of what makes stand-up comedy great. The same goes for this situation.
I am so happy.