Ahh the excitement of finding a house! It’s wonderfully freeing!
Then you find out that your landlord is a drunk, irresponsible asshat and you’re back at square one.
I don’t feel like I can move into the place that I found. Not without the purchase of a very large firearm. So, I’m back to looking and scraping the bottom of the barrel at this point.
The very, very bottom of the barrel that wasn’t very big to begin with.
I have a couple of lines to tug tomorrow, but I need to find a place or I’m gonna be stuck with the drunk asshat.
Not a savory idea.
Part of the problem is that I live in the very definition of BFE. Or BFNJ, if you so desire. There is nothing out here. Seriously. It’s 30 minutes to any shopping or any kind of town of size. There are horse farms and plain farms all over the place, but not a lot of free standing structures that could be used as a house. Just my luck, right?
Of course, if worse comes to worse, I can just move into my storage locker that I rented. No, no couldn’t do that. But sometimes, just sometimes, it’s tempting.
I know I’ll find something, or I’ll deal with the drunken landlord. At least I have that place to fall back on.
Packing starts tomorrow. The asshole I’m married to (for the moment) finally asked me tonight if I had someplace to go.
Nice of him to show a little consideration and caring.
He also stated that maybe we should wait to pack up the boys because they might be going with him.
I truly wonder what planet he lives on and if they sell timeshares there.
Here’s to hoping that square one is more productive this time around. Otherwise, I’m gonna call for a mulligan!