So much has been happening that I have done a terrible job of recording it. I am doing a much better job of living it.

I have endured the roughest of rough times and the loveliest evenings, often on the same day.

At the moment, I am . . .

    technically homeless

    dating LP

    dating the Long-Distance Fling

    unemployed

    camped out in the tiny apartment belonging to the Reporter (my gay boyfriend, who may or may not actually be gay)

    getting hit on by the Bon Vivant

    getting my life together

    picking up a random, handsome stranger at a hotel bar

    remaining celebate

No, seriously. All of it.

My technical homelessness is actual homelessness in that I have moved out of my condo so we can sell it and I have not yet moved into a new place.

Before you think I am being melodramatic, I had exactly $2.14 in my account today AND I had to pawn my jewelry to pay my movers.

Let’s just consider that for a minute.

Last Saturday morning, the Reporter picked me up before 9 am, drove me to a pawn shop, where they took two of my rings, handed me $375 and two claim tickets, and then drove me back to where the movers were underway.

It was a harrowing emotional week in which I could be entirely honest with no one. I was in over my head and incapable of asking for help.

I have learned a lot about myself as a result. A lot.

My brother — from whom I have been estranged — showed up to essentially evict me and had to help me pack as I had woefully underestimated my ability to do this on my own.

It took days.

It allowed us to bond.

It was not the worst thing in the world.

I tend to ask for help not when the iceberg has been spotted, not when near-collision is inevitable, not when collision has occurred, and not when we are starting to sink. I ask for help plucking people from the water.

That . . . is bad.

I am working on it.

My friends pitched in to help me pack, and then to move the last remaining things left behind by the movers. It was not terrible and not that burdensome for anyone but the Reporter, with whom I am now staying.

I have not told LP nor the Bon Vivant nor really anyone outside my tightest circle of friends. It was a long time in coming, but then it happened so quickly that I just kept my mouth shut. I have only begun telling people now that my feet are on more solid ground. Where it looks like there has been a plan the whole time.

There has not.

I have been surviving.

Now, however, there is a plan.

A pretty damned fine plan, as a matter of fact.

This tested the mettle of me and everyone around me and some failed miserably. Most importantly, my business partner BP has been such a disaster through all of this that I have decided forever to leave behind everything we have done and get a job.

He promised money, an apartment, movers, direction. He delivered nothing. I was completely on my own.

I will never forget it.

Let’s see, what else . . .

Ah, I am moving into a new place, three blocks from LP. It’s a chic neighborhood, close to everything and it will make my life significantly easier. I will be there for two months, which will give me enough time to figure out my next moves.

I want to stay in this neighborhood if I can. Likely living with my girlfriend C. I need a job to be able to do that.

I am working on that.

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