Shattered
Someone already has an offer in on the condo. It looks like everything's going to work out on this deal, but the realtor will call me if it falls through. It got snatched up just this last weekend. When my husband couldn't call cause he was working a God-awful shift leaving me a home with no one to talk to, and nothing to do really but dream about our beautiful place right next to his awesome sister with our cute little kid in the downstairs bedroom. "It's okay," Tom says, "There are plenty of other places out there." Obviously. The human race is not trying to cram itself into one little condo just off the freeway in Sandy. But I wanted that one. I was excited about that one. And now I can't have it. I knew we should've called last week when Miriam told us about it. Oh well. Now nothing stands in the way of moving to Alaska. Where it's cold, and there's lots of snow. And no people. And nothing to do. But it's Alaska, and I guess that's good enough for him. And hell, we won't have to carry all our stuff back up those stairs, and we won't have to worry about breaking our lease, or finding renters, or getting a loan, or repainting the ugly purple wall in the bedroom, and Tom won't have to pay more in gas to get to work, and I don't need to find a job, and I can stay in the avenues, which I like. And you can't see it, but I'm still crying.