If you don’t believe in divine intervention, I have a story for you.
Mom doesn’t want to move. Mom has been begging me not to move. She is so sad about losing the view. Losing the familiarity. Losing the “knowing where shit is.”
She’s been very passively-aggressively making me feel like shit for uprooting her from the place she’s been bitching at me for six years about taking in the first place.
She says the signs are there to stay put”
- In the past few days, I got a brand-new key to a door that I can’t for the life of me unlock with my own key.
- A brand-new streetlight was installed in our parking lot. No more falling in potholes when Evil Landlady 5 and the Maintenance Man from Hell forget to turn on the lights for the weekend.
- Our bridge that connects us to the other side of the Intracoastal, which has been under construction for months, is back to normal as of yesterday.
Still. I got a storage unit and have been shoving shit in there on a regular basis. I got the new apartment and lined up the mover for April 4.
And then today the memo came …
Construction starts on the north side of the building next week.
Our windows get torn out … we lose four feet of space from the outside-in … and wet, yucky, dirty, disgusting plywood gets put into the place of the windows.
That’s four feet from inside every outside wall. And I have a corner unit. My bedroom literally becomes a 5′ x 5′ closet because I have the corner.
That last mess starts April 6.
Two days after I have GOTTEN THE FUCK OUT OF THERE.
I like to think this is good karma paying off.
Whatever it is, I’m so very grateful …