There is something healing about hanging with your gal pals. I’m still at Pet’s, and Sadie (at whose home in Deliverance, a tiny agricultural hamlet, I spent Tues night) came into the city to visit her mom in a nursing home, then dropped over here. We three sat laughing our asses off, talking about our old-lady whiskers (I only have one that sprouts up when I least expect it, but Pet and Sadie are forced into regular tweezing and/or have been caught off-guard by the sudden appearance of facial hair).
Sadie is a storyteller extraordinaire and always keeps me laughing, and when Pet gets going she’s goofy as hell, so between the two of them I may have laughed away a lot of the “up against a wall” I’ve been feeling for the past few days.
Then I went to bed and dreamed I was living with a verbally abusive partner and had no choice but to leave him. Gee, wonder what that dream is trying to tell me? D’uh. Now if only a dream would offer me a few handy details about just how to go about doing that in the least harmful way. We own this property that won’t sell until we’ve invested a lot more time and money into it, and neither of us can afford to lose our shirts by walking away from it or selling it at a loss. Nor can I afford to live elsewhere while it’s still costing me money to maintain the house (heat, power, insurance, taxes), even if the costs are shared.
So: rock and hard place, meet BossLady!
Things will work out, I know, but it would be great if the next step would become obvious.