And so it came to pass that, after recent verbal assurances that I could stay living in my house as long as I wished, and an enthusiastic go ahead to get chickens and really commit to living here...
I received a notice to vacate. Within 8 weeks.
Never trust a landlord. I really should have that tattooed on my forehead. Backwards, so I can read it clearly when I look in the mirror.
I sat in the no-longer-mine-but-still-beautiful chicken coop with my mental but much-loved brood and cried. For 3 days. Someone should have taken a photo. They could use it to put me away forever.
Then I dried my eyes and hit the streets.
Which precipitated still more crying. Honestly, the things people have the audacity to call homes. How do they fucking sleep at night? I get depressed at the thought of anyone living in these loveless, lightless, smelly little hovels with their pre-war wiring and their spakfilled doorlocks. To consider doing so myself causes me to hyperventilate with terror. And, for the dubious privilege of occupying said miserable deathtrap, you then hand over either your virginity or your first-born child, whichever you're still lucky enough to possess, as security.
That said, it's all slowly coming together. A house has been found and applied for, though I can't talk about it yet, as it's by no means finalised, and more nervous breakdowns may yet be forthcoming. But the ducks and chickens have been found a home even better than the one they have now, and for that my heartfelt gratitude goes out to my oldest friend in the world. We started school together, and she could whisper animals even then. I never did work out how she does it. It's just a mysterious gift she has. Those are some lucky birds, let me tell you.
The Kid has been a champion. She chose, unlike her mother, to be forward-thinking, excited and optimistic, and did a lot of patting of shoulders and making of tea, lest Mummy lose her vital bodily fluids from all that leaking. Only twice did she ask me to please stop crying and come out from the chicken coop because it was 3 in the morning and I was starting to freak her out.
So. Cross your fingers, your toes, your eyes, if it will help.
And I'll be back in a few days with either good news...
or a suicide note.
Editor's note: application successful. See you on the other side... xo