For the past 10 days (has it only been 10 days?), I have been a rollercoaster of emotion. Within a single day, I can feel hugely hopeful, and then despairing, and then peaceful, and then turmoiled. I don’t enjoy feeling so schizophrenic, and I don’t like the fact that my circumstances have such control over my attitude. I continue to plug away, looking for jobs and places to live, but each time that something looks promising, the rug is ripped out from beneath my feet and I fall apart.
But I have found a new reason to live.
Walking through Pier 1 tonight, I came across the most perfect couch I could possibly dream up. No, it’s not flashy, and there’s nothing really remarkable about it aside from the fact that it was screaming my name. And from the depth of my spirit, my soul (sounding strangely like David Cassidy) echoed back, “I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?”
I circled the sofa, inspecting every line, every angle. Is it red, or is it rust, or is it brown, or is it pink? I choose to believe that it could be any color that I want it to be. I cautiously lowered myself onto the cushions, and was pleasantly surprised to find it cozy and comfortable. I envisioned it next to the the only piece of furniture that I own, The Chair:
Therefore, I will press on in my job search. I will persevere until I find a home. And someday, when I once again have ANY expendable income, the couch will be mine.
Oh yes. It will.