Moving is... weird.
I've moved plenty of times. So many times, I probably couldn't count them all. Maybe. I'll be honest, I'm not sure. See, this is my first move that is... well, just mine. Not my whole family's, not my sister's. I've always lived with family. This is my first place that is... not that. Just a place for me. It's odd. It's really, really odd. Really, really, REALLY odd. I'm sitting in a place that is mine, and my family isn't going to be barging in to talk with me about who knows what. It's so strange. They're two hours away from me. How strange is that? It's been about... a week, I think?
I caught Covid before I left.
It's strange. I keep feeling like I need to cry, but I never do. I can't tell if it's just the stress of everything or maybe I'm just overdue for a good cry. I don't know. Even typing this I feel the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes. I'm tired. I'm so tired. Fuck. What if I regret this? I don't have any money left. What if I can't find a job? What if Covid made me lose my ability to have a job? Even just breathing is STILL a struggle, four weeks out of it. Or was it three weeks? I don't remember. Fuck!
I should sleep. I have so much to do tomorrow. I've had so much to do for this entire week. I'm so tired. My legs hurt like hell. My arms feel weaker by the day. I feel like my lungs will collapse under my own weight.
Moving sucks.