The decision about where and when to move had been a point of contention in my former household for several weeks. Actually, contention is too strong a word. It was more like a watered down cocktail of resignation, apathy, and poor communication. We'd been living in a house of cards for the better part of the year, and despite the fact that it could come tumbling down at any moment, there was very little motivation to find safe harbor.
Now might be a good time to mention that I had no rental history. None whatsoever. I lived with my parents until I made enough money to buy my own place. I think I might have a visceral aversion to the concept of renting...especially from strangers. It's so strong that I even (for 2 minutes at most) considered buying a camper and living in my truck. Strong enough to fortify my ego against loosely drawn parallels between me and the principal character on the early 90's sitcom "Get A Life." Such deeply held convictions cannot be overcome in mere weeks.
Luckily, my bro got the ball rolling. Subsequent internet searches produced several reasonably priced, relatively decent rental options. The one at 7th Street and Bell caught my eye. It was a nice little patio home, with double master suites...perfect for myself and my brothers. It even had a little backyard area for the dogs, and a two car garage. It was seconds from the 101, which meant a shorter commute for me. Best of all, the rent would be half what my mortgage had been. I asked my brother to call on it.
I would have done it myself, but I'd relinquished all responsibilities months earlier, and could only be counted on to bathe and dress myself.
Anyway, my brother called, and it was available. We decided to look around some more...which really translates into "We procrastinated." For three weeks. Finally, at the end of February, I wanted the monkey off my back. I asked my brother to call and set up a showing of the property. This is a loose transcription of our conversation:
Adam: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Well, yeah. Aren't you?"
Adam: "I just think we should see what our options are."
Me: "Our options are 'move' and 'get evicted'. I don't want to wait for that! Let's do it now!"
Me: "Are you ditching me? Don't you dare ditch me!"
Adam: "No...we're not ditching you."
Me: "What's going on?"
Adam: "I'm thinking we should move in with Mom and Dad."
Me: "I am too old to move back home! That's embarassing! Is it OK with them?"
Adam: "They think you should. They thought you should've done it months ago."
Me: "Did they tell you that?"
Me: "Why wasn't I in on this conversation?"
Adam: "Everyone knows you don't listen. You're gonna do what you wanna do."
Me: "I don't listen?"
My sister later confimed that I don't listen, and that my parents did indeed approve of my moving back home.
So it was settled. I would be returning to the nest just a few months after my 31st birthday.
Jesus Christ and Illegal Immigration
6 years ago