*gasp* *gasp*

I feel literally like there is not enough air in the room.  However, I seem to be doing quite fine, despite the constant, low-grade panic attack.  Here’s the newest twist, it’s sort of HYSTERICAL.  If you’re a saddist.

The Boy and I have some vague plans to move in together when my lease is up.  I say “vague” because a) I have not discussed them with my roommate and b) if I say something other than “vague” I will throw up, possibly on your feet.  So I’ve been sending him apartment ads for places I like the sound and price of.  We are picky since we have to be near a metro (he has neither car nor parking at work), we have two cats, and if I am not afforded a goodly amount of personal space, I may throw up.

I was under the impression my lease was up at the end of September, so the Boy has recently gotten a little more proactive about the search.  And by “a little more proactive,” I mean he is looking today at two apartments that sound DIVINE to me, one of which is in the same community as two of my friends.  Both are available the beginning of September.  I’m pretty sure I could be thrilled to death in either one of them.

This morning I tried to broach the subject with the roommate.  She said, no, our lease isn’t up until the end of October. 

Suuuuuuck, there goes the air in the room.

I will be in AFRICA from October 24 to November 6.  That is not condusive to moving then.

But it gets better. 

The expiration date on the lease is November 30, even though the terms on the lease state 6 months and November 30 is clearly MORE than 6 months after the start date of the lease, May 1.  Who makes that sort of mistake?!  (Nevermind that I apparently just pulled September 30 out of my ass.)

So now that I’m finally over my commitment phobias and excited about moving in with my boyfriend, it asppears my lease is having commitment issues of its own. 

And I am still weepfully busy at work and with school. 

And since I’m complaining anyways, there’s this.  Because of my trip to Africa, I’m not sure I can take classes next semester.  I’ve e-mailed the professors of the classes I’d like to take for their syllabi and opinions, but I haven’t received a response.  My next plan of action would be to e-mail the head of the program and ask her advice.  However, she is unavailable.  She was in Lebanon last week visiting family.  Now she is–thankfully–in Cyprus, but she is unavailable to answer my questions and probably doesn’t give two shits anyhow.

I don’t mean any of this as a Why me? Poor me! sort of thing.  I know it’s just such a shame poor baby me has to go on that luxury vacation to Africa.  And obviously I am about the least affected person in the Israel-Lebanon conflict.  I just can’t help but wonder, though, what I’ve done to find myself in panicky, anxious state. 

The factors I’ve brought on myself are harsh, but reasonable.  The external factors are quirky, but I can take them.  That’s pretty much how life always is.  But what massive miscalculation did I make that I suddenly feel like I’m under an avalanche for only the second or third time in my life?