Sometimes life slams ya to the wall like so many slices of raw steaks pounded.
Other times — less frequently but still they occur — it tickles ya beneath the chin like fingers to a puppy dog’s neck.
Just finished up with a two-hour talk (!) with the mother whose daughter, 9, would be my part-time roommate (every weekend, I reckon, as shared custody with her father, my potential cohabitant).
He’d said he thought Valerie would like me. She did.
And I liked her, a lot.
We ended up talking two hours! on all variety of subjects outside the immediate and primary concern about whether I’d be a safe person/influence in a home with a child, well, specifically her child. If she didn’t have somewhere to be, we’d probably still be sitting there at Whole Foods conversing!
The final “clearance” stage is completed; I now await a call from C. with a final yey or nay. My skittishness, increased exponentially with the last three batches of roommates and fiery frequent upheavalw, doings, undoings and abrupt unforeseeable turns of events, is pronounced.
Anything can happen. I assume nothing, not even that I’ll actually into this next house, despite appearances and indications that I will, until I’m there, sleeping under its roof.
Trust nothing: an excellent motto to adopt, mefinds.
If, however, all elements congeal to slide me into place, there are reasons to be optimistic (still cautiously, of course) about the situation. It’s not forever, of course. I’m reasonably confident, however, that the next roommate is not (a) a bitter cruel lunatic, (b) rampaging functional basket case or (c) a selfish prick. Whoops, did I say that aloud?
For it wasn’t only Valerie, mother of said daughter and former spouse of probable future roommate, who asked me questions, I asked her — at double or triple the number!
I left no stone unturned. I presented point-blank my questions (with reasons for them, very abbreviated accounts of the three living situations). She wasn’t impressed — by the cast of characters. The traumas, particularly of returning home to locks changed in a snowstorm, are fresh and intense and remain with me like sinister black footprints crossing the virgin snow.
So yeah, I asked plenty of questions about him, the potential roommate, his character, what he’s like if angry or upset, degrees of unpredictability … solid good questions whose reasons for asking she understood, once I’d revealed them, and to which she responded with integrity and honesty.
I dare say I think these might be kind people. And if not kind, then at least not outright brutal and I’ll take that too.
So I await a call to seal the deal. In the meantime and as with all things, time will tell; for now, this feels like a move in the positive direction.
All for now. ‘Night all.