Homie needs a home, yo

boxhead

I suppose this could work as a home …

Late nights and early mornings. To-do lists. Cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, sharpies. Packing tape. So much packing tape. Shitty packing tape that splits and tears and you can’t find the edge and it never sticks straight. DO NOT cheap out on packing tape. Take it from one who has, and lives to regret it.

This is my reality at the moment, tying up the loose ends on one life and making plans to start another. But in between Lani 1.0 and Lani 2.0 is a strange transit lounge of decision making, wandering and wondering. The truth is, I basically have no idea what I’m doing.

One thing I’m quite clear on is the fact that I’m about to be homeless. Soon I will hand over my keys to my landlord, close the door to my apartment, and officially have nowhere to live. It’ll just be me and my suitcase, constant companions for the next few months, sleeping on couches here and there and generally being a freeloader.

And though there’s a certain element of excitement that comes from that kind of freedom, I also can’t help but feel a bit uneasy with it all. I am connected to nothing and no one. I belong nowhere. I am like a little leaf, blown about directionless in a breeze. Or a bedraggled traveller, plodding aimlessly about an airport terminal. With too much time to kill till the next flight. Trying to decide to get food here or check out the offerings at LaGuardia. Which may or may not end up being a giant mistake but what the hell, airport food is pretty much universally terrible so maybe I’ll just wing it and see.

Update: Surprisingly decent mozzarella and tomato sandwich at LaGuardia. No ill effects felt. Unlike this unlucky dude who discovered a wee surprise inside his Atlanta airport sandwich.

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2 Responses to Homie needs a home, yo

  1. Carol says:

    I just realized I was supposed to live in NZ, so I hope you keep blogging. Good luck!

  2. Abeth says:

    Its quite hard at times but worth every minute of it, from your nomad friend.

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