you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here: dftbl, day 50


We will no longer live in our home in four weeks’ time.

Come the end of February, we will be in another city, possibly in another state. We’re not exactly sure where, that all depends on the promising leads I’ve stumbled into this week, or whatever might come up between now and the 28th. It’s an understandably anxious situation: things wouldn’t be so stressful if we knew where we were going to be laying our heads on 1 March, and if I were finally, mercifully delivered out of the bread line by then. (The prevailing sense I get is that this will be ending soon. Then again, my gut–with PG-rated apologies to Rob Gordon–has poop for brains.)

This home has been good to us, though it was clearly built as a rental for renters. It wasn’t exactly very well thought out, and previous tenants–some of whom I’m still daily discovering used to live here–didn’t care for the place the way we have. For the past two and a half years, though, it has been our home and, when the space is bare again in a handful of weeks, it will sting a little to pull away for the last time. Even returning home after signing the documents at the leasing office, I felt the disconnection starting to happen. I had forgotten this place wasn’t actually ours, we just bribed someone monthly to let us think it is.

We didn’t want to bid adieu to Mecca: we have wonderful friends here and love our church. Such is life post-pre-mid–it-is-recession, the things we’re supposed to really care–loved ones, causes, communities, etc.–about ultimately end up being the things that are optional. Nothing happens unless we are properly subsidizing ourselves. In fairness, this is the whirlwind reaped because of the all the wind that was sown for years. What went around came around. It had to. Still, it fundamentally seems unfair to be in this place, finally have some semblance of a social life, only to have the gainful employment piece taken out from underneath us.

So, it’s been a roller-coaster week, culminating in real job possibilities and real emotions that come with knowing that we’re going to have to say goodbye. Every new beginning is some other beginning’s end.

Hey, someone should use that line in a song.

Dispatches from the Bread Line are recurring blog posts until I’m employed again.

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