Tuesday, September 16, 2014

#firstworldproblem homelessnesslessness

It’s been only three-and-a-half weeks since we sold the house.

Three-and-a-half weeks.

Twenty five days.

25 days in which we haven’t had an offer accepted or found somewhere else to live.

I’m not doing too well with this situation.

And each time I feel myself crumble, I think - this is ridiculous.

We’re not going to be destitute. We’re not bankrupt. We won’t be out on the streets.

We have a week’s short term sorted; we have an amazing network of friends who have offered beds, rooms, sanctuary.

We won’t be without accommodation; we won’t be houseless.

This week seems worse, not sure why but just worse. I’m tired of getting my hopes up and seeing unsuitable houses or finding that safety net options have been withdrawn or sold. I’m tired of thinking through all the temp/short term/rental what ifs for partitioning possessions, furniture, storage, vans … yaddah yaddah yaddah I can no longer think straight.

This week is crunch week - it’s the deadline I gave us to find somewhere before I turn my energy to sorting out a rental place and booking temporary storage and a removal van and possessions/furniture we can move ourselves and on and on and on.

Maybe this is why this week seems worse. This is face the music week. But as I say, we won’t be homeless, destitute, impoverished … just not in possession of a home. On our way back from Vancouver, the Wee Guy piped up from the back of the car - It’s always nice to get home after a day out. And I think this is where my stress is coming from - in a month, we won’t have a home to come back to; we’ll be in temporary digs, making do, goods and chattels in storage, cursing that this is packed and that is missing … not houseless, just homeless.

PS: This morning we got what might be good news. Not sure if I want to wake up in case it’s a dream. Stay tuned.

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