It happened today at 11:24 am. I started crying and couldn’t stop…for 10 minutes.
The dead rat on my porch was the breaking point.
Actually, that’s not quite true. Calling my landlord to ask him to remove it and being told I have 60 days to move was the breaking point.
It’s not that I am late on my rent. It’s not that I am constantly complaining about dead rats on my porch. The universe has just decided it’s time for me to live elsewhere. The people who own my house need it for one of their family members. I can understand that. I don’t blame them.
I’m just upset because I wasn’t planning to move. It’s a strain on me emotionally & financially. So, now I’ve got 60 days to find a place, pack, and otherwise deal with general upheaval in my life.
I’m trying to look at this positively. It’s an exciting adventure! I can move anywhere!
But of course, all I can see is the daunting task of locating a suitable residence and packing up my entire life in 60 days or less. And I get to do it all by myself.
Well, that’s not entirely true. My family will help me, but I really wish I didn’t have to burden them with this…I wish I had a husband or at least a boyfriend or someone else who had a stake in this change. This cycle in my life won’t go away. I’ve been doing it since I was 18. That’s almost 20 years. Can I get a partner in this situation? Why am I doomed to roam the earth alone?
Please pardon the shame spiral.
I really don’t want to move. Have I said that already?
I feel like crying for another 10 minutes, but that won’t help me shove all my wine glasses in a box.