The exodus has happened but not turned out so much as we’d thought. Bonus things. The property is gorgeous, the sun rises red then blue then gold on a hill outside the windows. The dogs and I hoof it through wild BLM trails every day, hopping the back fence and with the ability to walk for days, never seeing a soul. We’ve only tried hours so far, found a lot of bones and dead juniper skeletons. The house is beautiful, we own a lot of trees, it is kind of idyllic.

The downside is that Gary’s now reached a critical mass of mental illness and we can’t find the right help. He needs a psychiatric evaluation here which is hard to find, he needs drugs or hospitalization, and on top of that has a major back surgery in Santa Cruz, where we are now essentially homeless people. The idea of being homeless at home is a heartbreaking homesick I never knew how to feel but now I do. This combo of forces aligning has me overwhelmed. I take solace in the little things. The Costco and Trader Joe’s here are arranged just like ours at home.

At home. Bend is supposed to be my home now. But it’s hard to think of it like that, when Gary is catatonic, can barely speak, and is so sure he’s ruined our lives by insisting we sell our house and move here that he can barely function enough to get out of bed and into the shower. Even though it all started as my idea.

I’m not making money, either. That is supposed to start, but I’m seeing it’s going to be a rough uphill climb to get to where I need. I’m scared. I set up the dogwalk. We can work on that. It’s a distraction, I wonder if there is ever real agility again in my future, am I going to drain the bank account just trying to live, and end up literally on the streets? I’m just going to work on those turns some more and try not to think about it now.