Well, everything I own is here now. I've returned the keys to the slum apartment to the "management" company.
Lots of stuff is stacked under plastic tarps on the side of the house now. The piles in the driveway, which were driving me mad, are gone. All that's in the driveway are pretty containers of plants.
I moved all the residual in one day. I couldn't sleep on the morning of the 15th, the day the rent's due. I got up at three in the morning and began moving things from the driveway to the back yard.
When the sun came up, I stored and stacked everything under the plastic on the other side of the house, out of the way, barely visible from the street.
It took me about seven hours.
I was completely and utterly exhausted when I was done. It's two days later, and I'm still in a LOT of pain.
I've been doing light repairs and chores here, since. Mostly, I'm resting and healing boo boos.
I was having nightmares of being evicted: not yet unpacked, but with police watching me to see if they could arrest me for trespassing if I didn't pack quickly enough.
It's all based on the trauma of losing my boarding house in the War Zone. I've never fully recovered from what happened to me there.
I freak out at the merest possiblity of homelessness.
I scared my girl to death with all this, of course. She can't know. If we DID lose this place, she'd land on her feet; she'd be ok.
But I'd lose everything.
She's hurt and grumpy and so am I.
But I told her last night, as we ran, yet again, to Home Depot for more stuff to fix other stuff:
I know married couples, been together for years, who would have divorced or killed each other, under the stresses of this move we just completed.
We've only been together two months. Except for about 3 days of relatively-minor bickering, we've been very supportive of and helpful to each other.
Even when we're mad as hell at each other, we can still talk and work stuff out without major acts of hostility.
It scares her more than it does me, of course: she likes her life neat and tidy, easy to manage.
I've never had the luxury, really. I pay attention to details, like she does, to protect against any eventualities I can foresee.
But with limited resources/income, there's only so much I can do. So, I've learned to tolerate a certain level of confusion, crisis and chaos without totally freaking out.
Some of what's tolerable to me is on the boarder of major crisis, to her, and it makes her uneasy.
Add to that the fact this is the first time in many years either of us has lived with anybody, let alone had a lover.
Add to that this is her first love affair with a female.
Add to that my stuff.
Etc, etc....
We're doing very well.
So, I'm on the black, iron futon frame we drug here from the neighbors' trash. I covered it with old couch cushions and quilts. It's soft, pretty and comfy.
I'm in my purple African caftain.
I just finished cleaning and installing the shower massager. I still have to pick up the tools in the bath and her room, and reinstall the access panel to the shower on her bedroom wall.
I may put the new spring on the front storm door. I may not.
I have more lumber to cut to frame the chicken coop, but that'll wait 'til the cool of the evening.
I have a piece of cheap brisket to slow cook in Carne Adovado sauce, potatoes and veggies.
Animals are fed and watered and I watered the garden last night.
She'll be working all day tomorrow, too. So I can putter more then.
But I don't want to get too tired. Sunday, we have tickets to see "Embedded" up in Santa Fe.
She gassed up the car last night.
We're going to make a day of it, wandering the town, eating, watching the movie, etc.
Oh, tomorrow's the yard sale at the Peace and Justice center. I'm looking for a larger, Asian-style pot to put her bamboo in. I will do that, after I drop her off to work.
May swing by the Pueblo Cultural Center; I'm running out of cigarettes. It's right up the street.
May buy a few more chickens; the red died the other day. I don't know why.
Mostly, I'm recovering from the physical trauma of moving, though.
It's not supposed to rain for about another week yet. I have time to get my delicate stuff in from under the tarp.
Today, I'm just recovering.
So's she.
It's nice here. I really like our home. She does, too.
My arms are so sore, it hurts to type.
So, I'm signing off to watch soap operas and nap 'til she gets home and we eat.
Then, I'll work on the chicken coop, in the cool of the evening.
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