Why is it that saying "90 days" out loud gives me a feeling I can only akin to a heart attack? But that "3 months" doesn't reduce me to automatic panic? They're the same, right???
Well, this weekend, my landlord made me aware that I have 90 days, or 3 months, to be out of my apartment unless I want to sign a new, year-long lease. Nothing says, "Hannah your life is changing" quite like news like that, eh?
And, yeah, he sent me a text on July 4th. Happy freakin' Independence from life as you know it, eh?
So. Now. I guess I need a job and to move. Shite.
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