The American Dream

Easter weekend is upon us and the weather is Spring-y.   

Yesterday was the first Good Friday I've had to work in 22 years. Yes, I'm still complaining about the Rules of Tiny Town. They fit me like a cheap wool suit, all hangy in the wrong spots and scratchy. We did get out early, 5:15. Early. Ha. 

My friend Meems told me, "You're getting work raped!" 

That made me laugh and agree just a little. You know, this economy is such a shitty place to find a job that we're conditioned to feel gratitude for anything at all. "Well, at least I have a job!" has become the new normal. 

I'm feeling a little pressured because of Situations. You see,  we are being forced out of our very uncomfortable nest here in The Village (we live in the Ukraine Village, according to the signs posted around).  For you, Reader, who doesn't know, we live in an up & down double - we live in the up. The dude in the down is moving out. He bought a condo and is g-o-n, the only part left is the "e" - he's not fully moved out but mostly.   

So now the downstairs is going to be rented to someone new, most likely riff-raff. 

I'm too old/grouchy/resistant to living above people who are more riff-raffy than myself. I want to the be the most riff-raffy whereever I live. Plus, My Mister has his business in the basement - with all his inventory - and we have our shit precious belongings also hogging up usable garage space. 

We have a lot of stuff that just doesn't fit in this 2 bedroom abode.  So we have been told by the landlord (who is also My Mister's Mommy) that we have to rent a storage unit and move out all of our stuff. And My Mister will have to rent a building for his business, because he can't leave his thousands of dollars worth of inventory just out in the open in the basement where stranger riff-raff can just walk off with it.  And we have the whole parking situation to deal with, whereas in the present we all hang a set of car keys on a hook in the hallway and whomever is in last pulls the cars in the driveway because you can't park on the street in the Ukraine Village past 1 a.m., so we pile 'em in based on who's leaving first for work in the morn.  

We have nice cars. I'm not handing my car keys for our Lexus & my convertible over to riff-raff. No sirree, no can do. 

Not to mention that by the time we pay our cheap rent, plus a storage unit, plus an office building, I might as well be paying a mortgage on a house that could potentially, oh let's dream a little, have a dishwasher.   

So the Magic 8 Ball is telling us quite clearly All Signs Point to Yes. Yes, it's time to go.  And yes, I am quite ready to move on to a residence that fits us a little more loosely. But of course I just bought a new stove for this place (luckily the old one is still in the garage, it will be moving right back up here!) and we have a bill on an 80" tv we're paying. But all that can be managed. 

Which brings me back to my Tiny Town lament.  Once I buy a house in the big city by the lake, I'll feel like I'm a permanent person here and this is my life, the one I got, so go and have a ball (please know that reference, or Bonnie Franklin will be turning in her grave) and be grateful, with no chance of a holiday off again. 

Renting gives me a sense of Footloose & Fancy Free, free to just pick up the cats and relocate at whim to any other job where maybe we'd get, oh let's dream some more, Christmas Eve off again.  I had that, I know I did, but it was time to move on from the Card Mines. But I find it hard to believe that I can't find something where holidays are really holidays once again. Now, not that I'm really looking, but by renting, I feel like I could if I were so inclined. 

Buying a house changes everything.  I'm here. I'm permanent. "This is as good as it gets" is what buying a house says to me. 

That unsettles me. To think that after my divorce I just ended up permanently fixtured here, when I had dreams of distant shores and new beginnings. I don't know if I can just acquiesce to the situation. I don't know.