The GM1 got on his flight this morning and flapped away off to San Diego, to find us somewhere to roost when we move next month. He was all excited about going back, because he gets to see all his old pals, and nervous, because our entire existance hinges on his finding a suitable, affordable, not-in-some-scummy-neighborhood abode. See how I day by day subtly reinforced the concept of a proper living environment, until it took root in his mind and became the main priority of his life... to find a place that won't make me go psycho and cut Little GM1 off in his sleep.
Not really. I'm not that manipulative unless it involves birthdays and jewelry. Or cheese.
But he is concerned about the search, since this is his first solo as we've always found our previous homes together. But after all this time together, he knows what I like and what will drive me over the edge, and how to combine both our needs successfully. (He wants a reasonable commute to work, I want to stay as far away from frat boy stereos as possible.)
He can't possibly do any worse than Husband #1, at any rate.
Husband #1 was my high school sweetheart, and that right there should tell you why it went to hell in the proverbial handbasket. If you fixate on someone when you're 15 years old, and one of the things you love about him is that he never changes, chances are that will drive you mad by the time you realize you're 21, married 3 years to for-all-intents-and-purposes a man who is still 15. After discovering his work ethic was about equal to his budget skills (we had everything we owned repossessed twice, including the car), I decided to take my chances and strike out in the big world on my own. To be fair, I was just as incredibly stupid as he was, and the financial crap was just as much my fault.
But I'm not the one who dangled the prospect of a new home in front of me to get me to come back.
I'm just the dummy who took the bait.
Let me tell you how "new house on a hillside, with nice furniture" translates into reality: It was a condemned two room house on his father's property, the hillside was the result of erosion that was two feet from the back door, and the nice furniture was a folding table from his sister and a leaky waterbed his stepbrother had pilfered from his last delivery job. Water was supplied via a hose run from his dad's house next door, as was electricity from a questionable extension cord. It came with its own version of Animal Planet.... spiders the size of mice, mice in herds, and birds that shit on everything and that entered through the hole in the roof.
As I had had a huge fight with my parents about returning to Husband #1, I could hardly leave again, tail between my legs and humbled by my mistakes. So I stayed... through the winter when the water hose froze solid and we melted snow for our needs, through the electrical fire from the tiny space heater that destroyed my book collection, through the spider bites and the pneumonia. I stayed just long enough for him to decide he was better off without me and went next door to live with his mother. I finally left when she told me I would have to start paying rent to stay in Chez Slum, since her darling boy had come to his senses and dumped me. She also made the mistake of shaking her finger in my face.
I bite, by the way, and have excellent teeth.
So you can see why I have misgivings about letting housing decisions out of my hands, even though GM1 is so much farther up the evolutionary ladder than Husband #1. Shit, Husband #1 isn't even the same species, if memory serves.
Memory is a wonderful thing. It teaches us not to repeat our mistakes. It leaves marks on the instinctive level. It strengthens the spine and stiffens the resolve.
It makes it a lot tougher on apartment managers.
Good hunting, GM1. I trust you. I'm ready to go.
(previously posted on Blogspot)
Posted by LeeAnn at June 2, 2003 06:22 PM