I Cannot Even Begin To Tell You...

Just how stressful it is trying to find an apartment and a roommate from 1,500 miles away.

I'm sure it would be tough enough if I were like all the other kids, but it adds levels of complexity being:

1) 30. That's, like, seven years older than the average first-year law student. They all think I'm an old foagie, and, well, they're sort of right. I don't want to put up with their post-adolescent drama.

2) Gay. Do you have any idea how much this frightens post-adolescent boys? It is just stupid.

3) In Possession of a Graduate Degree. This ties into the age issue and has a lot to do with my lack of interest in putting up with post-adolescent drama, aka 20-something bullshit. It's OK. I had my own 20-something bullshit to live through, and I lived through it. I don't begrudge anyone freaking out every now and then in their 20s. But, now I have 30-something bullshit to live through, and I'd prefer to avoid getting wrapped up in more drama than I have to. I've already tried that, and it landed me in therapy and on medication. Not altogether a bad trip, but one I'm already on and one whose duration I would prefer to limit.

Seriously, though: I've lived with relapsing/remitting clinical depression for 15 years. It was time to do something about it. Any other chemical imbalance I would have learned how to manage long ago. But the point is, I am managing it now in a more productive fashion than I ever have before, and that's a good thing.