So, as it turns out, the stereotypes about RV’s are basically true. If you can find one that isn’t a rotted out mess, good luck finding a place to park it that isn’t. And on both sides of the fence, buying the RV or renting the space, the people are, for the most part, fucking loons.
Also, I have found that $6000 is not actually enough to get a decent RV. It’s enough to get an RV that looks decent… in the pictures.
So, I didn’t do that. But damn if I don’t know a damn lot about buying damn RV’s, now.
No, instead, I moved into the living room of a one bedroom apartment with a good natured kid. There are good things about it, but it’s not working out, and I’ve never really stopped looking for a place or brainstorming creative alternatives. Especially since the lease on this place is up in November, anyway.
The main issue I’ve been running up against, both in trying to find a place to live and in trying to be peaceful in where I’m living, is my cat. Generally, if a place allows pets, they already have some. CJ takes a while to get ok with that. And that’s when the other cat isn’t a pushy antagonizing asshole.
My roommates cat is kind of a pushy antagonizing asshole.
It got really clear the other day, when I got two hours of sleep because I couldn’t shake the trauma of being awoken by the mother of all screaming cat fights, that CJ can’t continue to live here.
She spends her time when I’m not home under my covers, and even when I am here things are tense. There is an ongoing ninja pee war that is driving my bloodhound snout insane, and in general no one is happy.
So I found a place for CJ. A nice place, with a nice lady, where she will not see me every day but will be safe and happyish for a little bit, until my ex is prepped to take her long term in the fall.
Sorry, got something in my eye there. Dust or lint of the crushing grief of giving up my best friend or something like that.
Losing my only consistent companion right now is tough, but it’s the right thing to do, and overall, I feel a lot calmer and more at ease knowing she will be in good hands in a beautiful house with no other pets.
So I’ve had a bit more breathing room since addressing her needs to think about my own, and what the hell I am going to do when I have to move, AGAIN, in November, and continue this ridiculous scramble.
And then it hit me like a divine intervention. Like a fucking light of god or a super deep anus tickle. A vision, of my arty woodworker friends driveway.
His long, straight, flat, gravel driveway.
With a wood shop at one end, and street access on the other.
So I took a big swallow, and I asked.
And with that, I have a building site, complete with an excited, resourceful, skilled partner in crime to help, and about 6 months to get my shit together.
The house is fucking happening.
In 2015, we BUILD.