After spending years sleeping in shelters, car seats or park benches, it’s hard – near impossible – for the homeless to feel at ease once a roof actually materializes over their heads. There’s always the agonizing thought that it could all end in a flash and they could be back to square one – the streets. That’s a thought I harbor constantly, rendering a good night’s sleep difficult to come by. There are the frequent thoughts that I could lose my disability, insurance or the building’s rent could suddenly double in this volatile market, or something could happen to get me kicked out, like an argument or fight with a neighbor. Every day, just a cursory glance at the news reveals the thousands upon thousands of homeless people in the world, my people, people I could unwittingly rejoin if I don’t play my cards right. I don’t want to be homeless again. This hand-wringing anxiety is driving me bananas. I can’t even stay in a shelter because the men complain I snore too loudly or my BiPap machine is keeping them up. I wish I could relax, find some solace. Maybe in the next life.