| When God Closes A Door, He Kicks You In The Groin As Well |
[Jul. 9th, 2009|04:37 pm] |
I most sincerely do not want to move. There is an excellent chance that we will be forced to move, and I do not want to.
We've started looking at the apartment listings. There are possibilities. It would make sense to move closer to work – we've found possible in Arlington, Waltham, Cambridge, Somerville, and a number of other places I don't want to go to. We have realized that neither of us have ever actually looked for an apartment before, at least not since the Ford Administration.
A few days ago I said that, worst case, we'd never sleep in our home again. Piece by unexpected piece we're approaching worst-case. In some ways it's as though the apartment had been destroyed, in that, one minute we were sitting in the kitchen reading, and the next it was lost to us forever. The fact that it's sitting there intact only makes it more infuriating.
It occurs to me that I've never actually described the place. It's a two-family, on a dense street of one and two-families. The landlord lives on the second floor (in America, the ground floor, ours, is the first floor) and his YA sons live in the built-out third floor, pretty much a third apartment tucked into the attic. The house dates from 1898, like everything else in the neighborhood. Janet's father bought it in the 1950s when her younger brother was born and their previous place got too small; Janet has thus lived here, off and on, for better than 50 years. (The downstairs apartment happened to come available just as she needed an apartment, so she moved in at a family rate.) He sold it to our current landlord (at the worst possible time for half-a-million less than he could have gotten for it a few years later), and we just started paying rent to another name.
I've been thinking, all day, of everything I'll miss if we move to the other side of the city. A lot of them, it turns out, are places to eat – our favorite Mexican place; our favorite Chinese place; the other Chinese place we go when we really need a pupu platter; the lunchroom that has Welsh Rabbit and grits; the lunchroom at the end of our street with the bad omelets and the great home fries; and the Wheelhouse, the diner where I've eaten lunch pretty much every Saturday for thirty something years.
I really hate change, and I really have trouble shifting states. I like where we live, despite the drunken arguments at three in the morning fifteen feet from our bedroom window and the occasional hit-and-run that dents another bit of our car late at night. And I hate the thought that we'll never wake up in our bedroom again, never sit in our kitchen drinking tea and reading the paper, never sit in the front room with my feet on the coffee table watching Jeopardy and shouting the answers to my wife in the next room.
I hate that in one moment we lost our home and the 25 years we've infused into the walls and all of the comforting moments that define our lives. |
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![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/47187618/1156358) | From: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) erisreg
2009-07-09 08:53 pm (UTC)
moments that define our lives. | (Link)
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i guess that's why i live so much in my head, too many years of being uprooted ,..o.o
![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/25787570/1750570) | From: firynze
2009-07-10 01:11 am (UTC)
Re: moments that define our lives. | (Link)
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I know that feeling...
I am so sorry this has happened to you.
But it seems as though, once the demo and repairs are finished, your home may well not seem like your home anymore. So once you get past the grieving, there is an opportunity to find a new place, one that will become your home.
And maybe not have drunken arguments quite so nearby.
(((You))))
I wish I could somehow make things better. Seriously, as I said a minute ago, check out the Chocolate Factory. It's a great place, clean, and well run. 617-296-1957.
It'llbeok,she'llbewithyou.
FT
That's actually one of the things we keep reminding ourselves of. It's a big.
Change is hardest in anticipation and while it's happening, but after I bet you'll be happier.
You have my sympathy in the meantime though! I just posted a picture of my home before I read this journal; must have been telepathy.
Maybe you will get lucky and your new place will have similar charms as your old home.
Somerville is nice except for the draconian parking laws.
*hugs and so very, very much sympathy*
here's a good one - it doesn't matter as long as you and Mrs P are together. You marriage is home and she is your comfort. All of the other things will come together afterward.
I hear you. I'm quite fond of my little groove, too. Even when it's clearly been grooved so long it's become a rut. It's my rut, damn it.
Sorry - I'd like to offer a glib platitude, but you'd see right through it. It sucks, but you and Mrs. Professor abide.
*Big HUGS*
Damn. Hard times. I hate changes, too. I'm praying that you find a better place, unlikely as that sounds at the moment.
Oh Jesus this is wretched. I completely know what you mean about having trouble shifting states.
Mrr. I wish there were something I could do.
I have a surprising number of people, virtual and meat, offering whatever help they can. The damn shame of it is that there isn't anything, really, that they can do!
If they fire me at 5:00, this will get even worse!
reason 34823904283 that you wouldn't have liked the army. let's move every 3 years! sure is a guranteed way to make sure you don't tote a lot of crap around.
I used to go to boarding school. I got very good at keeping my gear lean and at packing tightly and quickly.
Part of the trouble, indeed, is that I've been in one place for 25 years -- it accumulates!
i've never lived in one place for so long! although i do have my hopes about this house.
the last place was hard enough, we lived there for 15 years. and the guys won't throw anything away! unless i act all evil and make them. which i do with amazing regularity. | |
