Desperation.
I could see it in the way he pulled out his pen, ready to sign the rental papers on the spot.
He wasn’t going to be another homeless student statistic. I felt anger towards this fellow Ryerson student, because of him, that could be me.
I wanted to snatch the pen out of his hand and throw it out the window.
“How are you going to sign the papers now?” I would ask him, giggling horribly. I knew it was a nasty thought, but desperation makes a person do nasty things.
The Toronto housing market had fueled my desperation. It was filled with tiny, expensive, overpriced houses. Whenever I thought about these grim circumstances, I ate.
The Hershey’s cookies and cream chocolate bars they conveniently sold at the university cafeteria gave me some comfort.
I happily chomped away on the chocolate in my dorm room.
Heaven.
I was lost in a world of white chocolate.
Crunchy cookie pieces.
Oh heaven, sweet creamy heaven.
Then it was gone, and I was still homeless.
Temporary happiness was all the chocolate bar could offer.
The four other people I was moving in with felt the desperation too. “I don’t want to live on the streets,” one of my group members shrieked horribly.
I had a vision of all of us homeless, sitting on the sidewalk. Our home. We would never survive.
Grim thoughts like this usually put me in a mad state of house searching. Hello Kijiji, craigslist, pad mapper, viewit.ca
Occasionally one of us found a potential house/apartment we could live in.
Hope.
We giggled hysterically like out of control hyenas.
We were used to desperation and disappointment.
Hope made us delirious.
Then when the house didn’t work out, too small, too expensive, whatever, the desperation returned.
Desperation led me to late night feasting on cafeteria chocolate bars. It was a nasty part of me that wished to rip the pen out of a student’s hand and aggressively launch it out the window. All so he couldn’t sign the rental papers.
The Toronto housing market was all one big competition. The strong (the ones who threw potential renters/renters pens out the windows) would survive. They would have a place to call home. The weak would be picked off like leeches, and thrown onto the sidewalks of Toronto. What a nice welcome to their new home.
I could see it in the way he pulled out his pen, ready to sign the rental papers on the spot.
He wasn’t going to be another homeless student statistic. I felt anger towards this fellow Ryerson student, because of him, that could be me.
I wanted to snatch the pen out of his hand and throw it out the window.
“How are you going to sign the papers now?” I would ask him, giggling horribly. I knew it was a nasty thought, but desperation makes a person do nasty things.
The Toronto housing market had fueled my desperation. It was filled with tiny, expensive, overpriced houses. Whenever I thought about these grim circumstances, I ate.
The Hershey’s cookies and cream chocolate bars they conveniently sold at the university cafeteria gave me some comfort.
I happily chomped away on the chocolate in my dorm room.
Heaven.
I was lost in a world of white chocolate.
Crunchy cookie pieces.
Oh heaven, sweet creamy heaven.
Then it was gone, and I was still homeless.
Temporary happiness was all the chocolate bar could offer.
The four other people I was moving in with felt the desperation too. “I don’t want to live on the streets,” one of my group members shrieked horribly.
I had a vision of all of us homeless, sitting on the sidewalk. Our home. We would never survive.
Grim thoughts like this usually put me in a mad state of house searching. Hello Kijiji, craigslist, pad mapper, viewit.ca
Occasionally one of us found a potential house/apartment we could live in.
Hope.
We giggled hysterically like out of control hyenas.
We were used to desperation and disappointment.
Hope made us delirious.
Then when the house didn’t work out, too small, too expensive, whatever, the desperation returned.
Desperation led me to late night feasting on cafeteria chocolate bars. It was a nasty part of me that wished to rip the pen out of a student’s hand and aggressively launch it out the window. All so he couldn’t sign the rental papers.
The Toronto housing market was all one big competition. The strong (the ones who threw potential renters/renters pens out the windows) would survive. They would have a place to call home. The weak would be picked off like leeches, and thrown onto the sidewalks of Toronto. What a nice welcome to their new home.