Running Out of Time

I feel like giving up on my search for the perfect apartment. I don’t feel like watching Craigslist. I feel like closing my e-mail. If I never hear from another broker again, it will be too soon. I saw a few ads yesterday, and I still haven’t called. Something inside is stopping me. Maybe it’s the summer cold that I caught by being trapped, wearing only one layer, on an air-conditioned, 40 degree below zero, cross-town bus, that had to detour because a car blew up on 67th street in the middle of Central Park. (What were the odds?). Maybe fear of the economy. My favorite Tasti-d- Lite closed yesterday. All of those lovely people who actually cared about customer service showed up for work to find a stone-faced bean counter who ordered them to close up shop. I gave my phone number to the manager who’d been kind to me, offering a reference. I wished I could do more. This hit me hard. It could happen to anyone. New York has always been the city where dreams come true. People come here from all over the world, hoping to find their miracle. I was one of those optimists. I’m trying to stay strong. All my friends said I was crazy to move to New York. I ignored them. They say I’m crazy to remain. I ignore them. I don’t know what it is, but something in my gut is keeping me from doing anything in furtherance of getting an apartment. I’m sick and tired, literally and figuratively. Last time, getting an apartment was so easy and this time. . . There must be a reason why I haven’t yet found an apartment. I pray it’s nothing bad. I only wish I knew. The only thing I know-I’m running out of time.