edgy, rugged - rugged edges.

A week ago I passed the month mark of being homeless, and now I'm on the fifth week - officially at least, because in truth I left the apartment a couple of days before I had to. I wasn't much up to sleeping in a cold, empty, memory-filled apartment. But never mind that bit. 

I'm tired. Constantly. The last couple of weeks I've had a mattress behind a bookshelve in the apartment of a couple of friends I have. Magnus and Ditte. He works in Næstved as a highschool teacher and has 2½ hours to work in his car ever single day, thus we get up at 6 in the morning. But that's not why I'm tired. In the meantime I'm making use of the 'excellent' danish security system (I'll get into the faults and more later/some other time/not at all), hence I'm sitting on my bum in a way too light room with a bunch of other NEETs searching the interwebs for steady employment and somewhere to live - but no matter how many time I hit the infuriating and becursed f5 button, it doesn't make jobs or apartments appear faster. I tried this, I broke the key. But that's not why I'm tired. When I'm not doing that I'm... no. This is what my life has been reduced to. Sure - I get on the wicked webs of the intertubes, I do play some games once in a while (cheap netcafés are the bomb!) and go out - but there's a rugged edge to everything. Temper has shortened, there's a long way to a genuine smile (facades are easy, putting down the mask is hard) and I've also been lucky enough to lay my hands on a working, good, laptop so I can use photoshop and my camera again - but I don't.

Why not? Because there's too much rugged to my edge. My nerves are getting raw from not having anything akin to privacy (bitch about not getting enough privacy when living at home or with your significant otter/roommate - try living of and by other people's virtues), I can't rest properly and I always have to think, actively, "have I outstayed our friendship". I still work at the publishers, though hardly enough to support myself in the even I find somewhere I can live and have to pay rent, and quite frankly that's the only place I can go to relax on my own. How sad is that? In a concrete basement filled with unpacked books beneath a huge university I havn't been part of in more than a year... I havn't slept down there... yet. 

On the plus side. For the first time in years I've been able to go to bed, close my eyes and just wait until I fall asleep - instead of reading myself into stupor in fear of my own thoughts.