It feels like such a typical Sunday morning it’s hard to believe that all of this might – should – soon change.
It looks a lovely day. After a long week of rain the sun is out. The sky is blue and unblemished. It feels like short sleeves weather.
I woke to this late, and reluctantly. That seems quite typical for many Sunday mornings over the course of my lifetime. I was out last night for dinner at the Cheeses, where I also caught up with another friend. We went through about 4 bottles of wine and another of sticky before I began the walk home.
Bed was refuge. It felt good to lie there, to refuse to get up, or even to wake properly – though Rigby was restless for a feed. The sunlight seeped in, I dreamt vividly, feeling the comfort of bed a supreme luxury while Rigby in his way draped himself about me. I was woken finally by a ringing phone at about 9.30. While I spoke Rigby took advantage to lick my throat and chest with great industry.
I’m up now, soon to the shop to meet with a prospective partner, and I may even slip in my first massage there. Though probably not. I should return then and continue packing, though I do it now with much less conviction.
The deal is that I have to pay the rent until a new tenant is found. As long as I’m paying for the place I’ll live here. I had thought the house would rent quickly, and so I set about my packing. There was an open for inspection on Wednesday evening when 4 lots of people went through, but, as it turns out, none have submitted an application. That puts a new wrinkle on the situation.
Potentially this puts me in a very tough spot. I’ve budgeted for so much, but if I have to continue to shell out rent (that I can’t pay) then all my budgets are shot to pieces. On top of that I feel terribly responsible for the poor owners of the house who, through no fault of their own, are currently out-of-pocket. I feel bad, as I explained the other day, but have limited options. Topping it all off is that I now don’t know when I move, and so must be circumspect with my packing – though 60% is done.
In all of this there is a brief and probably unreasonable hope that perhaps I can survive. I really don’t want to move. Days like this remind me of how good it can be. It’s a busy time leading into Christmas too, and I don’t want to miss out on that. And I dread moving to my sisters, where I’ll be sleeping under the dining room table because there is no other spot for me.
So, I wonder, can I make it? I have money coming to me in January, and possibly earlier if I make a deal with the shop. If I can somehow survive till then I should be right till about March at least, depending on how everything else pans out. But how? This is the eternal question. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to do for months. I’m about $6,000 away from surviving to January, but it may as well be ten times that.
I hope regardless. Hope is my natural condition. Fuck it all I think, lets find a way. And, you know, it’s a lot better thinking that than passively waiting for the blade to drop. I’m energised by the prospect no matter how remote it is. Stupid really. Here I am about to be sued by my accountant and with all sorts of dramas surrounding me, and nothing really to look forward to – and yet I bounce along. I’m in a dreadful situation by any objective assessment, worse than I record here. But…I still think I’ll find a way.
Maybe that’s delusional, but I love that about me. It’s not really about winning or losing, it’s about persisting and, somewhere along the line, using my intelligence. Hang in there long enough and it will break, and when it does you have to make it count. I’m not at that point yet, but I want to be in position for it – and if I can survive here till then I’ll be halfway there.