Limbo Isn't Just a Game Anymore

I was afraid of limbo as a kid.

I mean, in general, I was just a scared kid and that manifested itself in my aversion to being chased and, in addition, anything that involved a room full of people watching me attempt to do something even remotely difficult. You know, difficult... like tip myself backwards from the waist up and try not to hit a stick that's balanced above me while I walk underneath it and the people watching sing a stupid song.

You know, it's a fucking terrible idea for a game. I think I would more enjoy pushing a tire around with a stick. Really.

But, anyway, yes, part of my hatred for limbo comes from my general dislike for being the center of attention. I have seriously faked injuries so as to avoid "playing" limbo. (Can you call it "playing?" Who cares. You get it.)

Anyway, limbo.

As an adult, the word "limbo" has this whole other meaning - besides the obvious meaning, which conjures up images of the game's frequent inclusion at silly corporate celebrations and bad luau themed birthday parties. Shudder.

As an adult, limbo means that someone - in this case, me - is in an awkward position. "Limbo" means that my twenty-somethin' ass got stuck while crouching under the limbo stick, trying to pull of some awesome dip move that would hopefully keep me from being eliminated.

As an adult, limbo means that I'm teetering. I'm balanced on the balls of my feet and I'm fighting the downward draw of gravity while my body spends precious, time-suspended moments trying to decide how to reconcile the fact that it is not, in fact, balanced, and is certainly not equipped for a backward dip/forward motion move.

In a series of somewhat unrelated, but domino-effect, life moments, I now find myself in a metaphorical place not unlike the balanced body suspension so commonly associated with the game of limbo.

And, after this series of recent events, here I am, teetering under the metaphorical limbo stick - wondering which way I'm going to fall, if at all. Maybe I won't fall, but instead I'll disrupt the stick. I'd rather that. I'd rather not take a terrible tumble in front of a room full of people. I'd rather hit the limbo stick and watch it go down instead.

In this case, the limbo stick is being lowered by two things: One, the fact that I am single. And, two, the rental prices in New Bedford. Allow me to explain...

Have you ever shopped for an apartment as a single person?

Me either.

Know what?

It's fucking impossible.

One bedroom apartments are priced for couples; they are at least six, seven or eight hundred dollars, some are nine hundred dollars a month.. some are even one thousand dollars a month.

One thousand. Dollars. One thousand American dollars. Per month. For a one bedroom. Ridiculous.

Now, apartments that have two bedrooms are, comparatively, a mere seven or eight hundred dollars a month - and, yes, some are nine, but not many. The majority are reasonably priced for two people.

It's such bullshit. Nothing is priced for one person occupation. Everything requires a partner in crime.

Okay, Universe, I get it. Thanks. Now lay the fuck off, please.