I guess we're not moving to San Diego after all.
I was so ready. I was primed to have a real closet and two bathrooms, something called space. Yep, I was looking forward to having friends over…especially friends I've never hosted up here. I'd be near my folks—they're getting old and need more help. What am I saying? I'll be the one needing help at some point.
But no. Mike's company isn't spinning off a subsidiary as planned, which means we have to stay. So it's business as usual, with Mike and his boss covering each other when the other is away. He wants to buy the frickin' one bedroom floating home in Alameda (which will, I'm sure, go the way of all his other impulse buys—the motorcycle, jeep, boat). I think he's sick of my whole situation and is thinking of bachelorhood.
I feel really weird. Depressed maybe. I need to go somewhere for distraction. I need to regroup.
I need to swallow the fact that the only thing we can afford to buy in the Bay Area is a piece of crap in the boonies. Or a condo with no yard (give the cats away?).