About Rooms and Space

The big push to get into Prescott and complete an overdue departure from Kingman by month’s end is on.

The first and foremost requirement is lodgings, a short-term and temporary landing pad — hence to craigslist for a rental room. Preferably one furnished since I have no furniture, not even a bed. I’ve not had a bed since 2011. There’s an intriguing teaser and wealth of stories waiting!

A Strange Nomad: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Get A Bed.

Anyways, craigslist is a loaded topic. So overloaded and fraught with painful history and people’s failures, primarily in the employment section but not limited to, that I dare not — and I do mean dare not — poke that gargantuan nest of raging wasps with even a toothpick. Not today.

This day (Th/1-23) I’m in Prescott, day 5 of a trip made specifically for this lodging purpose, “guesting it” in a buddy’s home, caring for his talkative and bossy part-Siamese cat named Simon while he’s out of town, salivating like Pavlov’s dog in anticipation of the fruits of my labors.

Finally, today, I get to view the first available room. A second was on the day’s agenda; something came up at work, she emailed me, so that’s canceled, requiring a rescheduling — and hopefully promptly since I need to get back to Kingman pretty quickly.

Tomorrow’s another viewing! My hunch is that these two or three rooms won’t be equal, that they may fall into their own 1-2-3 list of preferences organically. Where I’ll end up is the surprise in store!

I think most people would be extremely unnerved knowing they’re moving in a week but not knowing where! Those feathers of mine aren’t ruffled — for better or worse, I’m just so damn practiced at living in uncertainty and with shelter ever and constantly in flux.

My problem is that I mentally set these deadlines about when X should happen (i.e., finding a room). Sometimes it happens in my time and sometimes it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t, I panic. I lose trust or faith (admittedly the little I have). I get fearful that I truly am abandoned, that there’s no higher power or force or benevolent presence seeing me, never mind seeing my most basic needs (a safe shelter, food, water).

Talk about poking the wasp nest! These issues are soooo loaded with history, trauma, baggage and childhood experience, simply put, they’re not for public domain.

So it’s funny how I don’t really fret and turn emotional circles about where I’ll be living in a week — while being fully aware that I’m vacating my current premises at that time. Living by the seat of my pants is old habit and overpracticed skill. Not securing lodgings by a certain date — a self-created deadline — THAT bothers me. Is freak-out material.

Trust. Faith. Learning to believe — because it’s *very much* a learning process … this current journey for shelter reminds me of these ongoing (life) lessons. Reminds me that I need to let go … surrender … trust a process and a space, as in universe, that I cannot see, touch, smell or hear (very tough for this Show-Me Missouri-type gal!) … and most of all, and hardest of all, come to believe that I am seen by those above. That I won’t be forgotten. I won’t be abandoned. I won’t be forever invisible.

 

 

 

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