I am becoming an expert at living out of a suitcase. I've been doing it for seven months, after all.
Each time I move, the number of clothing items that I consider essential drops. When I first got back from the Mitten, I had a big suitcase and two little ones that all contained vital items. Now it's down to the two little ones. The big one is in the K.s' barn, full of things that I don't need to see again until winter hits. (I still have a bunch of dresses on hangers, though, of course. I lurve dresses.)
Two and a half months ago, I moved into this little sanctuary of an apartment. I needed some space to myself so very badly, and I found it here in this cozy studio facing west.
I love it here, but my time is up. The actual renter of this apartment is returning, and I'm moving back into the K.s' spare room, because I have nowhere else to go and no money to pay for it. I could barely afford this place. I managed it, somehow, but I didn't complete enough projects in August, and so I haven't gotten paid in almost a month. I may not get paid for another month. (It is not enough to do the work, the way I am paid right now. I have to finish a chunk of work, and then I can bill. I hate it.)
When first I got into my car and drove toward the Mitten in February, it was my goal to be back in Gone West by this weekend, for the wedding I attended last night.
When I turned my car around and drove back to Gone West, also in February, I could not have imagined that I would still be homeless six months later. I really couldn't. I thought something would come together, and I would have a job and a little apartment by now.
One of the attorneys I work with keeps telling me that the economy is terrible for this. It isn't me, he keeps telling me, it's the economy.
That may be true, but it's wearing on me.
There are some really, really good things in my life right now, but they aren't enough to stave off the constant anxiety about the bills I cannot pay.