Years have passed by and I’ve realized more and more that any decision, any change, any wait, any disappointment or any conquer lasts only seven days. My latest happening was my break up. Now it’s been exactly one week. In that week I cried too much, I spent money I didn’t have to sleep at a hotel, I hated myself.
On the first morning I woke up early enough to get the very expensive breakfast I paid for and enjoy the rest of my day searching for rooms to rent. That same day I had a viewing. And I had to go to work. That same day the viewing was disastrous and that same day the man, that once was the love of my life and that now I had wrecked everything because of who I am, told me he was leaving the country. That same day I went to work and had to sleep at a friend’s house. This friend I’ve met one week before.
The next morning I had to go to work again, and received calls from many rooms to visit, some very far from work, some very tiny, some very expensive. I made a reservation at a hostel until things got sorted out. I had a hand bag with enough clean clothes for a week, toiletries, uniform and socks. I went early to the hostel to drop my bag and go to work. In the middle of the afternoon he came to say goodbye, he was leaving that night. My heart hurt like it hadn’t hurt for a long time. Everything was so real at that moment. I had to go back to work. He didn’t want to wait for me to finish the shift to say goodbye. I went back to our old room and managed to stay there for a couple more days. I went back to the hostel to pick up my stuff – by that time it was already eleven in the evening. I went back to work to drink. I met a Scottish man that paid for a couple of my drinks. I went to our old bed and didn’t sleep.
Next morning I had to work and I had a viewing. The room was expensive but good enough to start again – with a bed, a desk and a shared balcony. I took it immediately and went back to work to give the guys the good news. I was starting to feel better. That same day the owner of the old room texts me saying I had to leave the next day because they needed to paint the room. My stress allergies started coming back instantly and I was freaking out again. I was so upset he wasn’t helping me out that I simply said I wasn’t leaving and that he had to deal with that. I think I was so straight forward with him that he didn’t even argue. Two days from then I packed everything and moved all my things to the new room, but I couldn’t move in completely yet, I just dropped all my life in a place that could be my new home. But it couldn’t be that easy right? So I put all my things inside the lift and went down by the stairs, but of course the lift got stuck with all my stuff in. I had to call the owner and I had to wake up the building manager. I did it. I called a taxi and it didn’t come. I waved to a taxi driver and he stopped, he didn’t want to take me but at the end he did. He moaned all the way. He wanted to leave me with all my five bags a block away from my new home. Finally at the building I managed to carry everything upstairs and the moving was done. I went back to work. I slept at my friend’s house again.
The next day I worked again. All of those days I had to drink quite a little bit too much so I could sleep. My last night out we went way too far with the drinking, but it was worth it. We danced, we met people and we even bounced out of a fight.
On the seventh day I was settled. I had my new room with all my things, I had new roommates, new neighborhood, new friend. On the seventh day I was feeling empty, starting again, alone.