So, the county came out and checked our house. We got the official report that there were no violations re: overcrowding and no drugs… and in fact, the county official told us himself that our nosy neighbor needs to mind her own business…. that the house is large enough we could fit a few more people… which is good, of course, because Tanner’s room is for rent.
I’m hoping that I get a good, stable roommate this time. I feel like I’ve been through the wringer and I’m ready for a teacher or a student that keeps to themselves and doesn’t cause any trouble. Perhaps we need to look for someone with a job that already piss tests so that there’s no way drugs will be brought into the house, anyway. It’s a thought.
Yes, weed is legal in DC, but not in Maryland. And besides that, it’s still a violation if you’re renting out a room that there is any kind of smoking inside. Of course Hayat cares whether we’re on drugs or not, but it’s more than that. She could be shut down by the county and the family I’ve come to rely on could have to kick me out because of something that someone else did. I would be inconsolable after the year I’ve had, because I don’t want to live alone, and I also have reticence about getting back on Craig’s List to find shared housing. Even when I can afford a place of my own, I don’t want to because it’s so much better for my savings account, and watching it grow is one of the few things that makes me ridiculously happy in this world.
The things that my mother left me are priceless family heirlooms, so I cannot and will not sell them to provide for my future. So now it’s time to get on the bandwagon with FAFSA and try to get grants as well. I am in a good place to do those things, because I have long been independent from my parents, so their income will not affect my own. There are plenty of UCC scholarships for grad school, but getting undergrad paid for is almost entirely on me. It’s a good thing I don’t lack much and will only be in debt for the year and a half it takes me to finish and not the entire four years.
I’m singing for a funeral today, not as a soloist but in the choir. I have some trepidation about it, because the last funeral in which I sang in the choir, I cried all the way through it because even though I didn’t know the deceased, I was dealing with a lot at home and it was redirection onto something else. I’m in a better place now, but I remember what it felt like as if it were yesterday, and I am not eager to repeat it. What is different is now I have anti-anxiety medication on board, and I feel good this morning. I am hoping it lasts.
Although if it doesn’t and I arrive at my house crying, maybe Gladys Kravitz will call the county to make sure I’m okay.
Stories That Are All True 