Here’s a grueling thing. Have a weeping husband, who can only shuffle limp about saying, “I fucked up. I Fucked up. I FUCKed UP,” over and over, like how records used to do before we got our music from our phones. Like before when we had the walkman and all those tapes (thrown away), and the discman and all those cds (good will/yard sale/some thrown in a dog crate with the lamps).

Yeah. So sell a house. Buy a house. Then regret it all, and not be able to get it back. No way, no how, no coming back here. Now there is NO reason he wanted to go to Oregon and only reasons for living exactly here, which is the exact place we cannot live, ever again.

I was ok not selling our house. I wanted to, I loved the house in Oregon, I picked it out. I spearheded the mission. But I was always ok staying. It’s crowded here, there are problems, but there are a lot of good things. We were both on the fence at times. Then when I pulled it out of escrow, and said “that’s it. We are NOT moving”, he freaked. For some reason, he insisted, insisted, insisted, then we did it, and then he regretted it and had a nervous breakdown. Full blown, needs meds and psychiatric care which is actually not very easy to get. Then found out he needed the back surgery. Then started the shuffle weep fucked up thing. While I packed and tried to keep smiling.

It’s a kerfuffle. I’ll keep going. But I don’t know if he will. It’s grim. We have an ugly few months ahead. It’s not going to be easy. We have to go live in an oddball house up a crazy twisty road for 2 months for his surgery and to keep our health insurance in California. I can make lemonade! I’ll have my friends and agility and I can keep teaching for a bit to make a little money. Not enough money! But some.

Um, dogs? Agility? The dogs sat in the car most of the day in my neighbor’s driveway and now they live in a house without furniture for a few more days. Oh wait. A little furniture. Their dog beds. That’s it. I made sure, keep their beds. For reals.