Last Tuesday, my landlady informed me that her daughter is returning to Paris, and as a result, I am going to have to move out. My initial reaction was Aaaarrrrggghhhhhhhh!!! But of course, my landlady being as cool as she is, immediately followed up this piece of bad news by having a solution to my problem - she has a friend renovating a studio apartment in the (very cool 6th arrondissement), which is renting for less than I pay now, and the friend has promised to let me have it if I want it (which I am sure I will, but I can't see it until the renovation finishes at the end of the month).
So it's all good, but that still didn't prevent me from having the mother of all meltdowns the next day. I think it was delayed stress at the thought of moving, so I worried about that all morning. Then I went to see about a part-time job, but of course it had already been filled (so in my mind, that turned into: I will never get another job here and will live in poverty and use up all my savings and become a bag lady), and then I went and sat in the park for a while and there were couples everywhere (so in my mind, that turned into: I don't have a boyfriend and I will never have another because no one fancies me because I'm a hideous hag and I will die alone and mice will eat half my face before anyone even notices I'm missing). As you can see, I was having a serious case of drama-queen-itis.
But I'm over it now. Mostly...
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