Life took a sudden turn, back then, which I’m intending to keep at a great distance from going bad. With a phone call, last Friday, the manger of my apartment building changed my immediate life by telling me that I am soon to be booted out. It seems, from their first day of owning the building, they should have told to leave. I’d already been in the place for over 5 years with the previous owner. This little quasi-government agency needed to make this change not to because of my being a bad boy; nor as they admitted had I been a poor renter. Rather, they needed to be rid of me because I have been making too much off my private disability.
Here, though, is where that mid-Friday afternoon meeting’s flag took a delightful twist in gail force winds from the IRS. They, unlike the IRS, liked having me. So, they were being forced to be rid of someone all of them got along with. Nonetheless, I found delight in being told they were the one’s being raked over the coals and were, positively, apologetic to me.
Now, here is where my stress caught up with me. Their needing to have me out of their residence by the 1st of this February.
For a few hours, afterwards, I felt like I was being whipped around by those winds that had been whipping around the two housing authority managers. My being told, politely masked in a serious apology, to get out no later than the first of February invaded a decade of a calm life. It was my brother, Brad, who helped me focus in and discover the right move before that evening was passed.
Brad suggested, or I’d be more on target to say, insisted that I consider living with our mother. For the past 8 to nearly 9 years she’s been dealing with dad, who’s now gone through three strokes and has been in a nursing for the past two years. He is now formally cared for in a hospice fashion within that nursing home. Mom is now living on her own on the ranch.
Well, rather than waiting two weeks, I succumbed to my brother’s suggestion. I was packed and all my stuff, minus what I needed out on the ranch, was in storage on the 23rd. Brad’s wife Shelley was the only one being short changed since I sought shelter at their place for the night. That next morning, Saturday, Brad, fortunately it is only metaphorical, tossed me in the trunk of his car and hauled my carcass out to be with mom.