don't care don't care don't care

So in this little saga called my life, I've been so excited because there is the potential to MOVE OUT OF BAT-SHIT HOUSE and live somewhere nice for a change. Somewhere, where all my furniture is going to look, according to my friend, like "not enough furniture" - which is fine with me, I'll enjoy living somewhere big enough that every bit of wall space is not lined with a couch, table, whatever. Someplace nice where the kids and I can stretch out and not always be in each others laps. Someplace with a living area larger than a bedroom. An actual dining area versus, hey you have to get the milk out of the fridge with a straw if there are more than 2 people in the kitchen. A place where the washing machine isn't in the bathroom, the dryer isn't just more counter-top space in the kitchen. Oh, and more than one toilet. It'll be a dream come true.

Somewhere  with the potential for sane, MYOB neighbors or even if they are insane but differently insane from my current neighbors. You know, the ones who bitch if my kids run thru their grass to retrieve a ball, but park in their own lawn. Because little kid feet are much more damaging than parking the car on the grass!

So here's the deal. A house was found, I was really really excited. And now I'm waiting. First it was the 29th or something, next Thursday?  Then it was thought I could "move in" yesterday. This I learned last time I went to go scoop the kitty litter I bought to take care of their cat. Then yesterday I was told I could have a garage door opener and move stuff into the garage. Really? Because I want to move this crap twice? I don't even want to move it once. Then it rained yesterday and the other people were moving in an open trailer so they decided to do it today. I. Don't. Care. Have you ever heard of a tarp? Evidently not. None of this makes any difference anymore. I have no idea. I was told they were moving today, but I don't care. Today I got a call I can have a garage door opener now, because the people still have things in the house. Seriously why does it matter? I have till Sept. 30 to get out of this apartment because apparently with the city assistance I have, they do things for an entire month. They can't break up a month. (Yes I am a welfare mom, insert shame here, except once in this new place I won't have any city assistance, so it could be seen as some sort of steps toward self sufficiency, except it isn't, insert thoughts on depending on others for survival here coupled with a sense of "I can do it myself" even if I can't... it's just too confusing for me right now. I don't know how I feel.)

Oh yes. I don't care. If the person who told me "it is raining and they have an open trailer" was less of a nice person I'd have a hard time being pleasant. I don't care. What if my entire apartment was packed up in an open trailer waiting for them? Do they care? No.

Does my landlord care that he's scheduling "showings" around his own schedule, so that I either have to be here or a friend does, because strangers touring through my belongings just creeps me out. No. 

I am content to sit back and let everything revolve around everyone else. It's not about me. I wish it was about me. But it isn't. Somehow I thought I would enjoy this more. Maybe that comes later? Because I am not enjoying this. This is not special, this is smelly. This is like everything else I've ever done, absolutely not easy. I'm not saying there were no moments of satisfaction, however even they were short lived. I was really happy to sniff all that carpet and discover the cat hadn't peed on the floor. But I had to crawl around on my knees to know that. Sniffing dirty carpet. (Someone just please let me in there with my vacuum cleaner, it is driving me nuts to know how dusty that carpet is.) I was delighted to hear I would be able to move in early, but duh, not really, no, I couldn't.

Am I ungrateful? No I will be plenty grateful. I am grateful-ish right now. Bordering on crabby.