Transplant life

I’m not really looking to fit in, but I am looking to feel at home. And so begin our lives as transplants.

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The Polished Turd

I was afraid of this, but I wanted to have faith in the options providedโ€ฆ and apparently the school used to hook people up with real estate agents, but that has fallen to the wayside with a larger population. (Iโ€™m irritated because I specifically asked about this, but was told that it isnโ€™t necessary. What I didnโ€™t realize was that what would be available would be the equivalent of a room at the Motel 6 after a family of six leaves.

Honestly, it’s disappointing to see the quality of the apartment with which weโ€™ve been provided. From far away it looks okay, but up close, day after day, itโ€™s clearly a polished turd.

One-way ticket

It’s funny (funny peculiar, not funny “haha”) how my days spent languishing in a perpetual pause this summer now feel so far away with the autumn leaves crunching below my feet. “How literary,” I thought yesterday as I hiked on a dirt trail through my favorite local park.