I wish I could say that things are now going "bombastically" (circa 1996, I do believe) about this whole move and adaptation thing, but I'd be lying through my teeth. I went to my mom's Tuesday night because the plugging of the whole and amazing amount of mothballs did nothing, and on top of that, the deadzone in my place decided to POP! and kill the remaining 75% of the power in the trailer AS I was working on filling the hole. I called Mom and proceeded to have what can be described as a panic attack. I tossed our stuff into a basket (stuff that'd get us by for the rest of the week), woke up my daughter, snatched the kitty and tossed us all in the car and peeled outta there. I had another crying jag at work on Wednesday, so a savvy friend of mine called the real estate people, and they at least sent someone out to get the power back on. However, the deadzone still existed, I soon found out.
My daughter went to her father's this past weekend, so I took that opportunity to try and re-introduce myself to the place. I went back up there, and this huge wave of gloom and just, blah, hit me as soon as I pried open the door. I noticed the usual fixtures weren't working, and it took me a solid hour to get the water pump turned back on since it was literally wired ass-backwards from everything else. I was unpacking a few things, just trying to make the place feel more like mine, when I walked into my bedroom. "Ground-Zero" for rodents, as it were. I saw the foam in the hole had pretty much held up, and I then walked over to push my hopechest to the foot of my bed, and stopped abruptly.
There was a new hole chewed in my wall, behind where the hopechest had been. It was so voraciously chewed that the literal corner of the flooring was visible in the hole. But was I going to let myself be scared away by that? No. I went outside, grabbed one of those insanely heavy concrete slabs, and shoved it against the hole. "Take that, f*cker", I said aloud. At that point, it was dusk. I went out to unpack my tchotchkes. It was dark by that point. Pitch-black outside. Anxious, I went back into my bedroom to tinker around on the laptop. Try to distract myself. I was going to make it there through the night, damnit to hell. Then that's when I noticed it. Another hole. I remember crying in frustration. Called my mom, packed some more stuff, grabbed the cat, and went back to Mom's place.
The frustration was/is three-part:
1.) I don't like the feeling of having to live with my mom again when we are so incredibly different and she is overbearing but well-meaning, I guess.
2.) Even if the place were to get treated and have the power fixed and just, whatever, I feel almost as though I've got a version of PTSD from this experience.
3.) I felt like I'd let my daughter down. It was a huge deal for us to actually own a place. She could paint her room whatever color. We could get a dog. We could get a trampoline. I synonymized (is that a word?) these actions with owning our own place.
Realistically, we could have all of the things from #3. What my daughter deserves above everything else is a happy mom, since that makes HER happy. And none of this is making me happy. I'm trying to decide how long I'll need/be willing to stay with my mom. Ideally, through the end of July is what she'd like. I don't think I can last that long. For instance, she notified me yesterday as she saw me drinking low-fat soy milk that soy makes men gay. Now if she sees a guy on t.v. that she thinks is gay, she calls him a "soy boy". She said she read it online. Newsflash: If you have an opinion, if you search enough sites, you will find someone out there who will agree with you. Of course, she's already hinted at me going to the church-based weight-loss support group. I'm not anti-weight loss... at all... I'm just not into church. She knows that. I'm moving my stuff to Mom's this upcoming weekend. I will have to thoroughly check to make sure nothing has rodent damage. Otherwise, it's trash. Mama don't play.
So, right now my biggest things are:
1.) figure out how to break my lease. I really don't feel like being stuck with having to pay thousands to someone who doesn't deserve my money, someone who saw this evidently ignorant single mom a mile away and took me for a ride. Breaking leases in Florida is not for the faint of heart.
2.) I've got to survive the stay with my mom. And determine where to live that won't be right in her backyard.
3.) be ready for school when it starts this summer, and not emotionally eat myself into a circus tent-sized dress, since after staying with my mom for barely a week, I see where I get my horrible eating habits from.
I have to find my little bubble of contentedness (is THAT a word?) again. I don't mind trailers at all, never have and never will. Hell, it's part of my upbringing. Now I've just learned what all I need to do with one before I move into another one. With my income, they're pretty much all I can afford, but just because you're poor doesn't mean you have to be harrassed by little furry non-rent-payers.