Last week was a pretty average week for me.
My mom and I have been making so many treks from the hotel we’re staying in to the house we’re not living in that it’s hard to remember which day entailed what — or even which days we went by.
On Tuesday, though, I went by after a doctor’s appointment — and after getting another prescription for blood pressure medication that I didn’t like when I took it the first time, but probably should be taking because of the increased stress in my life, right? — and before picking up an order at Walmart — one that I actually didn’t end up picking up, neither then or on the later pass with mom in tow, as it turns out, because that Walmart is down something like a dozen workers for one reason or another (and the Target literally across the street is hiring with starting wages at $15 an hour, advertising such opportunities with a sign at the road the likes of which I have never seen from a Target) and the pickup orders were delayed at least a day.
So we retired to the hotel and did some research on what we thought could be the next house we’ll be living in — one not just in the general vicinity of the house we’re not living in but in the same neighborhood, an utter boon given that proximity to an ongoing recovery and restoration process is going to be important for us — and miraculously got a hold of the realtor, who allowed us to see it at 5 p.m. that afternoon, which we did, finding it smaller and ... well-loved, which helped dissuade my mom from liking it even though I had gotten over my own reservations about whether it would feel weirdly like settling and/or punishing ourselves to be approximately where we were in most ways except slightly less comfortable by that evening, though not so much that she was not ready to apply.
Then Wednesday morning came, and mom had reconsidered on that house, so we backed off on applying immediately, and found several other options online while she played phone and text tag with the company our insurer is subcontracting with to find us temporary housing, only to learn that the short-term leasing terms the subcontractor is trying to use were incompatible with various of those options, and resign ourselves to applying to that aforementioned house after all.
On Thursday morning, we learned that house was going to another applicant — with my mom receiving that phone call in one of our two hotel rooms while I was filling out the third of our three applications (my dad needs a place to live, too, after all, but he’s mostly at work, and not dealing with all of this) in the other one.
And somewhere in there, we also learned that our stay in these hotel rooms seems likely to be up on the 24th and the stay in this hotel is likely to be up on the 28th, with rooms being fully booked beyond them — but not because of the impending Artemis I launch that should bring tens of thousands of tourists to the area, and instead because of yet another baseball or softball or stickball or pickleball tournament. So now we’re trying to find a place to be within a week.
I say all that to say this: Yeah, I’m excited for the return of college football, and looking forward to watching games. But man is it ever evident to me how many of the people who are spending their waking hours counting minutes until a game that they can tailgate before or watch from a couch or celebrate with a few beers at a bar are privileged to have that free, low-load time — time I simply do not possess.