5 pizzas, 3 buckets of paint, 9 runs along the lake, 2 shows, 7 days without heat, and 10+ calls to the landlord, inevitably leading to 10+ bottles of wine. These are the numbers by which I measure my first month in Chicago. Along with one more: 13.
That’s the number of job applications I’ve filled out since swan-diving from my employed life on the East Coast to follow my dreams in the land of deep dish and 312. Only to be honest, after 13 applications, that swan-dive is feeling more and more like a belly-flop. Leaving a sting that sends my mind shouting: “yoooo. why’d you do that tho?”
But luckily for me, the sting and self-doubt are fleeting. Because when stacked against all of those other numbers, it doesn’t seem half bad. After all, each pizza leads to another potential favorite. Every bucket of paint brings home that much closer. Another run, unlocks another part of the city. And more shows means more chances to meet more friends. But I’m not going to sugarcoat the days without heat or calls to the landlord. That ish sucked.
Although, it is how I’m justifying adding another empty bottle of wine to the shelf tonight.
Cheers to the first of many months in Chicago. And to finding a way to make money with my words.