Because nothing really happens here

I have been in a rut the past couple weeks-- I've been doing that thing where I come home from work and pour a big glass of something strong and then hide under the covers and stress over small things to distract myself from the big things, like Making Ends Meet or What Am I Doing With My Life. Instead I think: how long will it take the dirty dishes to get moldy? will the mold smell? will my landlord evict me for the sink full of dirty dishes? will I still have to clean them if I get evicted, or can I just leave them behind? what if I never change the light in the bathroom? what if I never change any of the bulbs when they go out? will my electric bill go down to $0? or will they still charge me for simply being here? why doesn't anyone deliver liquor here? if I keep not answering my phone will someone show up to check up on me? will they think to bring me some wine? how will I know they're here if the buzzer doesn't work? and I don't answer the phone?

But really I'm just melodramatic in my anxieties (and everything else) and I am still Functioning and making it to work everyday, even if I'm incapable of getting there on time and require an embarrassing amount of coffee just to start answering the phone. I see people, sometimes, outside of work--and I went to a party! on Halloween! I socialized! But mostly I watch rom-coms on netflix and bite my nails and avoid the kitchen, which is difficult in a studio apartment. Avoiding anything is difficult in less than 400 square feet of space.

Anyway, something clicked on Wednesday and I finally cleaned the sink, took out the trash, picked up the all the dirty clothes and even changed the sheets, did a load of laundry and finally went to change the bathroom lightbulb that blew over a week ago only to realize that the screw to the fixture was stripped and I couldn't get to the damn bulb. Of course, the fixture is glass and it's a good ten feet off the ground so because the chance that I would break it trying to get the screw off and end up stuck on a step stool, barefoot, surrounded by broken glass all over the floor and a fine from my landlord for breaking their shitty light fixture was very high, I decided to instead make the most embarrasing phone call of my solo-living fourteen months and ask the janitor to change my lightbulb. I told him I felt like a fool and he said "I know," which certainly didn't make me feel any better, and then he came Thursday morning when I was out. And then he broke the fixture. And replaced it.

That was a big event for me, this week.