i lived in my house for 51 years and 4 months

[orleans]

i knew i was losing it but there were moments of hope when i thought something would work out, that there would be a way for me to keep it--but as the time grew closer for the loan to come due (that my mom had taken out--it was actually her house) i began to find myself in the throes of anticipatory grief which had begun over six years ago.

the bank did not foreclose. that was good.
they saw i had put it up for sale a week or two before the loan came due so they knew i was "making an effort" to pay their loan back.

i ran out the fucking clock. and for that i am grateful. the loan came due in february. i sold the house--my beloved house that was never officially mine--the first week of july. even then, i "rented" it back from the guy who bought it for four more days.

i ran out the clock. i stayed as long as i could.

my beloved house. my years of growing up (we moved there when i was six or seven years old). it was my sanctuary, my sacred space, my home base.

losing it is a tremendous heartbreak.

i am well aware most normal people grow up and move out. i am not one of them. i was planted and held a strange connection to the house. if i was away from it for too long i would get anxious to return to it. it had a tremendous pull on me.

it was sold to a builder who will knock it down. my friend says it is an appropriate ending that the story ends with me. and i think he is right.

in any case, i have now moved into a condo (ugh) that will never be my true home. i was fortunate enuf to be able to take most of my things (and my mom's) with me. (i have a garage to use for storage & a storage unit).

but life has changed--i look around and see the familiar in such an unfamiliar setting. i will never be the same and i miss me already.

feeling slightly incoherent (thank you vodka). more dark days ahead. too much fucking loss.

sorry for the ramble.