Today is an unniversary of sorts for me. It was 3 years ago that I responded to being asked to move out of my house where I’d lived for 10 years with my son and my then-wife of 17 years. I moved in with my friend TJ for the next several months, at which point I began numbering my housing situations as if they were software revision numbers. Because of divorce math and the best interests of my son, I got to pay my own rent and also the full mortgage on the house for the next 20 months, after which the house was finally sold at a loss of 17 thousand US dollars.

So if you see me out this week and I seem conflicted, it’s because I am half-way celebrating and half-way pissy. I am ultimately very glad that the turn of events has helped me to see who I really am and what and whom I value in my life. I am thankful that my health and my mind are intact (to my knowledge, at least, though some of my friends may beg to differ on the latter) and that all of this change is leading me (sometimes painfully against my so-called will) to a more peaceful recognition of who I am inside and how I spend my time when I am all by my solo, but I am also occasionally very frustrated about the continued financial and psychical costs of this knowledge.

I’ve been working (not working, actually) on a longer post about the revision numbering of my dwellings and the craziness involved in leaving my most recent residence to move into the one I’ve had since May of this year, but it seems I’ve been more content lately to have new experiences than to write about past experiences. That is all.

Shortest/quickest post yet. Look, ma, no edits!

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