Because I know how you feel, man.

I HATE Monday mornings. Monday mornings always mean goodbye for The Fiance and I. We spend an entire fabulous weekend together, then get punched back into reality come Monday morning, when it's time for one of us to head back home.

So, this past Monday morning I was doing my usual Pout Walk out of his apartment building and just about had a stroke when I opened the door to the building's lobby and came upon a homeless man, curled up along the mailboxes, surrounded by all of his belongings in plastic bags. He had nowhere to go.

This is me walking, "La la la, I hate my life," then nearly tripping over Homeless Man's life sprawled out before me. We made eye contact, which made me both want to puke and cry at the same time because, A) I hate eye contact, and B) also strangers and C) he's homeless and it's cold out and SIGH.

And then My Life flashed before my eyes:

In T minus seven days, I will be homeless. I will be living in limbo until The Fiance and I move to The Middle sometime before next year. Literally. Next YEAR. 2007. So I've been packing my things (and I say "packing" as if I'm actually putting stuff in boxes, but what I'm REALLY doing is throwing everything away because I'm too lazy to stuff said objects into boxes) and storing them in a friend's basement. Tonight, both my boss and a coworker will be helping me move what I've labeled Heavy Stuff, and another pal is giving me more boxes. I've already used up the boxes I had, The Cats want to kill me and my apartment is horrendous. I'm sleeping on an air mattress, no longer have my TV OR my computer, and took all the clocks off the wall. I'll be crashing on ANOTHER friend's futon in her studio apartment come next week, will be living out of a laundry basket, and will hang extra clothes elsewhere, in someone else's closet. I have a small pile of Things I Need for the next two months to take with me, and the rest of My Life will be packed away for an undisclosed amount of time, including my computer (and iTunes and photo upload abilities), every season of Grey's Anatomy, Sex And The City and Dawson's Creek, and all of my books. I won't really HAVE an official address, my own bed or, technically, anywhere to park my car. Although my (lovely, helpful, fantastic) friends promise I'm no bother whatsoever, I already feel like an asshole for barging in on their lives. I don't have any food to speak of (at the moment), an apartment full of crap that still needs to be packed and people wonder...

WHY THIS STRESSES ME OUT.

Now you know. And dear Homeless Man, I'm SO with you on this one, brother. Us homeless folks have got to stick together.

Anybody have a refrigerator box I can live in?