So I heard from the property manager again. "No word til Friday at 4" is today's story. Of course that could change to an infinite number of Fridays ahead, as it has already several times...
I really hate this. Not that I don't love Strider or feel welcome, because that's far from the case. It just seems that the longer I'm away the less I care about anything. In trying to not get upset I tend to dissociate from everything, and I know that wiill lead to depression. So I try to keep on that balance beam of don't freak out at them/don't give up/stay centered and it's not easy. Especially when every week it's a different story and I've been homeless since August 27th and my patience wore out about 1 1/2 weeks ago.
The bed conundrum is making me nuts. I need a bed as soon as I'm there, but to order one online will take 5-7 days in shipping and I'm pretty sure I won't have that kind of notice. On top of that, both places in my town that sell beds have no emails- one doesn't even have a website!- and the one right down the road from my place seems to still be closed due to the flood. So I've emailed the mgr. asking if I can just have it delivered so it's there and ready. We'll see if they say yes.
My brother has 10 days until retirement. They're piling work on him and he's pitching fits. Everyone else is the same old, same old. It's October's bright blue weather here. And that's the news from the hills of Maine. I'm gonna go scratch doggie ears.
and- here's the news from NYC and Boston Occupiers:
The Door Is Ajar.
6 days ago