Hello, Hell - Can I leave yet?

This is such a bad week. I think it's officially the week from Hell, and it far surpasses any previous weeks that seemed hellish.

Unless some prayers get answered pretty quick, in 2 days we'll be living in a hotel room and everything we own will be in a storage unit somewhere. 

I've spent the past week trying to get the apartment we were supposed to be moving into worked out, packing, listing stuff for sale on Craigslist, and doing a heck of a lot of praying. We learned 4 hours ago (less than 48 hours before moving day) that our application got denied for rental history from 6 years ago that we  fully disclosed when we applied 2 weeks ago. For the last 2 weeks, we'd been told time and time again that anything over two years ago didn't matter.  Obviously some supervisor didn't bother to read that memo.

I don't know what we're going to do, where we're going, or how we're going to get there. I'm trying really hard to avoid falling into full-on-depression-mode or full-on-freak-out-mode. But I have to admit, they're both lurking right there on the periphery.

So, I've been listening to Smokie Norfolk's "God's gonna make a way" on repeat for hours. I'm trying to remember that old saying - when you're going through Hell, don't stop on the road. And I'm working on figuring out what the next step is. I'm thinking more searching for a place to live & store stuff would be a good start.

It's going to be a long next two days. We'll figure it out. As long as we're together, that's the important thing. And I know that we'll come out of this trip through Hell stronger than we were before.

Or at least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself until this is over.

Don't wanna...

There are few things in life that I am adamantly opposed to doing.  Things I find unethical or unjust.  Eating brussel sprouts.  Moving... again.

Since 2006, I've moved six times.  And due to circumstances beyond my control, we're moving (again) in less than two weeks.  I'm much more apprehensive about this move than the previous 3 moves.  And I'm trying to figure out exactly why.

In 2006, I moved three times.  First, into a women's shelter when fleeing my abusive ex-husband.  Then, into an apartment that I shared with my sister.  And finally into an apartment with my (at the time) boyfriend.  The shelter was nice enough - a place to hang my hat while I got my head straightened out some and figured out how to cobble my life back together.  The apartment with my sister wasn't bad - I enjoyed her company, and it was close to work; it was a low-income complex, which wasn't bad if you could overlook the lack of basic maintenance and you didn't get on the wrong side of certain folks (no problem, it was better than where I grew up).  The apartment with my then-boyfriend was a bit worse - maintenance was fine, but after about a week, I was no longer comfortable with my son playing outside unsupervised; it was one of the "bad" parts of town.

We moved out that apartment in a hurry.  We'd been there for a year and half when the young child next door got caught in gang-crossfire.  We moved out less than a week later.  Ever since, we've rented houses from private owners, in carefully vetted neighborhoods - are the schools good? are there gangs? are the residents obviously proud of their homes?

As a result, we've ended up in what I call "vanilla" neighborhoods.  Granted, they aren't entirely occupied by white folks - we occasionally see a person of color other than my husband.  And, when it's been possible, we pay the transfer fee to keep my son in a different school that has a much more culturally and racially diverse demographic, even if it isn't the "good" school.

Now, we're moving again.  And none of us are happy about it.  We're going to be moving back into an apartment after years of living in houses with backyards, neighbors that stay put., having enough room to have both an office and an art studio space.  Not only are we moving back into an apartment, we're downsizing significantly, in the hopes that we'll be able to save up enough to eventually "own" our own place.

So, I'm in the middle of figuring out what is going with us, what is going into storage for use at a future house, and what is getting sold.  I'm in the middle of sorting through my feelings about moving, and I'm getting even more fabulously depressed than I already was.  It's amazingly difficult to find a two bedroom on the first floor at a place that is willing to overlook a lease that was broken to keep your family safe.  And I'm worried - about the neighborhood, about the neighbors, about the schools.  I'm worried about moving my 13 year old son to yet another place that he'll find it pointless to make friends at because he knows we'll be moving again.  We've intentionally looked for a diverse area, where as a white person I'd be in the minority.  And I'm praying that it's safe - that the appearance of safety we saw during the day doesn't evaporate as soon as the sun goes down. 

We can't know until we're there.  And that's what scares me.  The unknown.  The future.  And that I feel powerless to change it.  Transitions are never easy for anyone - I find them especially difficult.  I don't like change - I resist it at all costs, screaming and kicking every inch of the way.  And I don't have a choice in this.  I have to face the unknown, the future.  And I don't want to.  I want to kick and scream.  A lot.

Lord, grant me strength and courage in the face of the unknown - mainly so I don't hurt myself with all the kicking and screaming.