No place to live. That's a scary prospect. I had counted on the kindness of friends and found that in a clinch, there's few people you can count on. What's the line from that blues song, "nobody loves you when you're down and out"? Don't get me wrong, I had a lot of help and good intentions but that don't put a warm bed underneath your ass when you're homeless.
I also didn't want people to know just how desperate I was. Pride is a double-edged sword.
The day finally came and thankfully, Joe went above and beyond the call of duty and helped me move. Unfortunately, my move date coincided with Mother's Day weekend and both he and I had to work through the weekend delivering flowers as well as move my things. It was a grueling weekend and it was made even more hateful when my psycho-mate took off the entire week to be there and hover over me as I packed and moved. I also can't end this entry without mentioning two friends of mine who came and helped enormously during my move. Jenn and Jeff were a godsend!
I was amazed, though, at just how much stuff I actually had packed away in my little room. Thankfully, Becky offered her shop so I could store my stuff in the back workroom. It's huge back there, you can park five cars in the area and there's still enough room for a hotel. The move up and down my steps to the penthouse was torturous and I vowed to NEVER live in a walk-up again.
Once the weekend was over and everything was moved (to a point, there's a few items left in the attic that I have to make arrangements to get) I handed over the keys and I officially had no where to live.
A week later, I was still, literally, wandering the streets and boardwalk of Atlantic City.
More to come...