It’s a done deal.
72 hours before I’m to move.
That’s cutting it close. Still it fails to topple the record of 12 hours, the time remaining to escape from the House of Windsor Wincing into the House of the Rampager.
The extended background check (a bit too extended under the circumstances, methinks) was completed with yesterday’s call to my boss, clearing the path for the next change of address day after tomorrow.
New Year’s Day.
Three batches of rotten roommates have left my optimism about shared housing with strangers in abysmal disrepair, my trust in the basic goodness and decency of gone … oh wait, that long ago vanished so nothing lost there!
Thus I neither comment nor predict on this next move save to say it won’t last forever.
I’ve oft contemplated these intense upheavals of residences and have come to recognize if not appreciate the truth: Sometimes lousy options return lousy outcomes.
The moves from there to there to there (smushed within about as many months) share a commonality:
Each residence was the only door that opened, the only option made available in field of unresponsiveness, a peculiar and particular Denver characteristic still to be fully understood.
Additionally, each move has had in common extreme duress, distress and desperation. Let’s review in brief:
the move from extended motel stay (OUCH!!) to the House of Wincing;
from there to House of the Rampager, with 12 hours left on the clock;
from there to the House of the Man of God (allegedly), lifting me from homelessness rendered by a change of locks.
from there to …., forced by a man who claims to be of God but not of his word.
I defy anyone to identify choice in any of these beyond the choice and will to survive – and a choice for shelter, however shitty the circumstances or people’s behavior, over of homelessness. One truly must understand that sometimes we get to make choices and sometimes choices are made and forced upon us by forces and conditions not of our making or choosing, like parents, authorities, circumstances, economy and etc.
It’s life. Sometimes life truly sucks.
This next move might bring a break in the turbulent weather pattern and here’s why, a longheld secret that can now be revealed.
Before the move to Denver/Colorado, which incidentally was long researched across many counts, to correct at least one person’s misperception that I simply packed, hopped into the car and arrived in Denver, I’d set my sights on a pocket, a suburb, deep in the Denver southwest sprawl.
I won’t go into the reasons, only that it was the area where I knew I needed to be.
Upon arrival and seeing the area for the first time with my own eyes, feeling the vibes and energies even through the rubber of my tires only confirmed the accuracy of my foreknowledge and determination of that I needed to get there come hell or high water.
Which aptly describes the first half year in metro Denver!
I just knew that if I could get into that pocket – not an easy achievement for a host of reasons – in work and housing and possibly play, things would begin to stabilize.
My job’s already there, with all signs pointing to it not going anywhere, a MAJOR achievement that appreciated only by those knowing my job history (Brandon).
This upcoming move now puts my housing there too.
This is an accomplishment of major magnitude and significance across macro- and micro planes.
Across four states and five leaps across sprawling metro Denver (and not a little fucking lotta bashing along the way!), I’ve finally gotten the footholds – toeholds perhaps – into where I need to be.
What differentiated this move from the other four is: responsiveness.
The percentage of craigslisters answering my queries was greater than usual (note: not great, just greater than the usual near-zero), in no small part due to the seasonal relocation slowdown that worked in my favor.
From their responses was returned opportunities to view places; therein was the CHOICE lacking in prior moves.
Also this time I was in fate’s favor of (a) space* and (b) time.
*There’s that word I so love again!
Not saying there was a lot to pick from, there wasn’t. Am saying that there’s a big big difference between being given 30 days to relocate versus Subzero Time when encountering changed locks in a snowstorm.
To date, these moves have been about dodging bullets in gangland and fight to survive.
This move, for its particulars, circumstances and forces as well as location, a key factor not to be overlooked or understated, I dare to say that the omens are positive for respite from turmoil and turbulence, fucked-up characters and their rotten actions.
Won’t be forever, this next place. The ride ain’t over. Spring’s ahead. I sense the winds will lift and relocate me, if not in housing, then job, possibly both.
This move brings for now a spell of woefully-needed rest and a break from really mean people, a time to rotate the tires and change the oil, metaphorically if not literally. That Subaru deserves some attention and care, she’s been AMAZING, carting full loads across four states and five residences of metro sprawl AND starting up in snow, ice and frigid temps the first turn of the key every time!
(Resisting temptation to launch into my cultist Subaru passion!)
For whatever the duration of garage next place, I crave and covet that respite and spell of normalcy.
I celebrate my entry, first as employee and now resident, into Littleton. This is an achievement unparalleled in its value to my own life and path, an accomplishment of enormous significance, the realization of a vision borne of Tacoma/WA Darkness — all made possible because I refused to give up.
The will to survive is all powerful; the will to live being only gradually discovered.
So two days from the turn of the year, bon voyage to residence number 4, hello and happy new year (fingers crossed) to number 5 since July.
Or as I might like to look at it, number 1 of 2012.