Rug Pulled Out

My landlord is selling my house. My beautiful little house in the trees. With the secret staircase to the studio/sewing room. And the tool bench. And the Catrium. (I can't bare the loss this means for the kitties.) My beautiful little house close enough to ride my bike to work on sunny days and walk to the Farmers Market. The little house that I rent for way less than should be possible. The little house that made me feel like I had room to breathe.

And the news came at a particularly bad moment when I was already teetering on the edge of losing it, mourning other loss and disappointment.

Suddenly, all I see is injustice. There is no way I can ever find anything comparable in the same price-range. At least nothing I'd want to live in. I'll end up in a dark cramped basement. My cats will hate me even more than they already do. And all my work on my budget will be blown. I won't have enough to live on. I'll plunge back into debt. I will never get ahead. And why me? I don't want to have to pack up my entire house and move right now! Why do I even try? Or so the Chicken Little in my head tells me.

After a generous amount of denial, tears, and wishing reality was different, the news is settling in. I am adjusting. I have at least two months. More if it doesn't sell right away. Maybe it is time for change.

Farewell Catrium...