I could have missed the pain but I’d have had to miss the dance

In the period of seven months after leaving TAO I moved seven times.  I stuffed belongings into ragged suitcases, left over boxes, pillow cases, and black lawn and leaf bags.  Whatever my friend and tax advisor and I couldn’t fit into our cars, was left behind.  I learned not to attach value to these possessions.  After all, my real possessions were still in storage and every move was only temporary and meant to get me through the next magical find on Craigslist.  I left TAO, a beautiful resort-like condo in Broward County, determined to return to Palm Beach County where I planned to restart my care management business before “snowbirds” arrived from up north for the season.  I left Tracy’s, a friend who let me crash at her place, to renting a home in Boca Raton from a woman I met on Craigslist and quickly swindled me, taking all the money I had left, quickly starting my descent to gypsy-hood, moving in with a fortune teller, sharing a bathroom with a tone deaf crazy woman who watched TV all night, keeping me from sleeping, to sharing the home of a 91 year old mother of a friend with dementia who wouldn’t allow me to turn on the A/C, to a townhouse with Chinese Firewall syndrome making me ill, and finally to a quiet, safe, and lovely community where I finally emptied 2 storage units and vowed to die before ever moving again.  The six o’clock news discussed how the economy had changed American’s lives.  People often spoke about the 2008 depression, but whatever it was called, this period took me from owning a Broward condo to living as a gypsy in Palm Beach, losing my home, business, sense of self, yet never – never, losing my mind. 

 

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