shadowed by the bag lady

When it rains, it fuckin’ pours.

It’s come to my body/intuitive awareness that my temporary abode is a “sick home.” My senses tell me that the chemicals in the thick carpet, the glue and/or sealants and possibly also in the wall paint are toxic. There’s also a serious mold issue. This place could benefit from a dehumidifier. My temp roomie presents full-blown symptoms of sick home syndrome; I now am too after 1-1/2 months here.

We each know there’s only one solution: move. Sick home or otherwise, he’s planning his escape from the long, dreary Northwest winters. Me, well, without an income, I can’t go anywhere.

The second punch is that evidently whatever pollens are being released from the thick grove of trees right outside the apartment are causing severe hay fever. Not being allergy prone, except once to Misourri’s seasonal grasses, this has come as quite the unpleasant blow. OTC medicines and I are not a good match so I’m going to pick up an herbal remedy with hope that it’ll bring relief. I’ve not been sleeping well at all and all around just have been physically miserable.

The apartment and environs do not feel good. They are draining me of life, as they drain the roommate; the deleterious effect on him is unmistakable, pronounced. He needs to move. I need to move. Yet without a job, there's no immediate respite. I spent part of yesterday on the other side of town, curled up with my laptop at a cafe, to get a little relief. It helped some, which tells me that the problems in the abode are real, not my imagination (not that I thought they were, I’m very trusting of my body-intuitive information).

So just when it seemed that things couldn’t get worse after the shock of losing my job, not securing new work or having an income, the place that is temporary home is anything but.

What the fuck is going on?