Out of Time *

That's it for me.  I chased one final carrot which unexpectedly appeared the evening of Christmas Day, and which I became convinced was the Almighty giving me a really terrific gift.  I'm not in the mood to write about this, but I usually feel better after I do.  I'm also trying to ignore Amy, who keeps screaming, "Loser, Loser," so I've put on the Hygge station and here I go.

The housing 'tip' came from 'Mary', the gal from Pot of Problems.  She knew someone who might have a cottage on her property for rent, she'd check and let me know.  I've been up and down so many times the past 4 months I was afraid to hope, until I opened a note on the 26th, indicating the two women had spoken and I wasn't to worry because there was not only one but TWO possibilities, one from another property she owned closer to me.  Between them, they'd be able to solve my problem: my housing voucher-extension ends January 7th, and I can't get another.  Boy, if this works out, what a Christmas story it would make.

Mary called to make sure I saw her note, and elaborated somewhat, insisting money wasn't the important thing to the homeowner; she likes helping people in need.  It's possible.  Mary offered tips on how to get help with the security deposit, but I've been saving for this moment and didn't want to waste time with the application process.  I wrote to the homeowner to introduce myself, adding my housing allotment for Central Point is around $1000, and security deposit's no problem. The homeowner was ill but promised to call on the 29th.

The duplex/Mother-in-Law place was undergoing some repairs so I wouldn't be able to move in right away, Mary said, adding she'd seen the place and thought I'd like it.  The delay would be fine, since I would give my current landlord 30 days notice; but at least we'd stop the clock.

I won't go into gory details, but as New Year's Eve approached without another word from either, I began to panic.  This is crazy, I don't even know what this place looks like.  But I bought my boat, first and third RV's and my current car sight-unseen, so why not a place to live?  Plus I was dealing with real women, one I knew from volunteering...not some Property Management Firm or Scammers.

It would take time to gather all the information necessary for the numerous forms required by Housing, and the holidays cut into valuable time.  Also weighing on my mind: last month's rampage with the Housing Office; but I reminded myself that even if I alienated everyone in their office, they still HAVE to do their jobs.

I've spent the past 12 days on pins and needles, never venturing far from my Skype-phone.  I passed the time by eating, sleeping, crying, and window-shopping on Wayfair.  I went to Goodwill, but told myself only to buy things I could use even if I don't get the place.  Still, I looked over the second-hand furniture and imagined how I'd refinish different pieces.  Furnishing a home could be pretty cheap.

"If this doesn't work out," I wrote a friend, "they why couldn't God (if there is one) have just left me alone on Christmas?  I was doing fine."

I'd pretty-much gotten over losing out because of sixty bucks, and was resigned to wait out the rest of my voucher-days.  "I didn't do anything; this fell into my lap!"  Thankfully, Nancy shared my anxiety and frustration because Amy certainly wasn't helping.

"Loo-zer...Loo-zer..."

By January 4th I pretty much cried Uncle, so I called mine.

"That's not God," he chided.  "(Mary) struck a spark that took root in your mind; and you latched on and ran with it," or something to that effect.  "It's a jungle out there," angrily adding something about letting them both have it. 

"I know, I know, it's my own fault.  I shouldn't have bought into it, but I'm not going to get angry, not this time."  If only it hadn't happened on Christmas.

On the morning of the 5th, I did write a note to Mary, hoping she felt better (everybody's sick around here) but also expressing my disappointment that the homeowner apparently wasn't interested in renting at this time.  I admitted to being disturbed since Christmas, and wished the homeowner could have been upfront about it, but apparently it's not in the cards for me right now.  I thanked her for being sweet enough to try and help, I thought that was MUCH nicer than, 

"I WISH YOU HADN'T CALLED ON CHRISTMAS," don't you?

I loaded 'the chair' into the car and returned it to Goodwill, explaining for no reason to the woman that I'd purchased the chair when I hit the top of the list, I'd been optimistic, but tomorrow it expires.

"And you didn't find housing."  Nope. I asked whether she knew anything about the Section 8 process?

"Oh, yeah..."

Returning the chair was the final nail in the coffin, so now it's time to conjure up an attainable Plan B, which will have something to do with all those Shutterfly books I created last year.  You-know-what or get off the pot.

BUT NOooooo....one more time through the ringer for Andrea.  On the morning of the 6th, right before I left for a dental appointment, I opened my Skype and found a message from each woman (sic): "Don't give up," and, "Can you speak now?" Nope, I'll have to call when I get back.  Take your time, I told myself; don't panic.

As I drove towards town I began laughing like a lunatic.  WHAT???!!!  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME???!!!  I refused to pray, since whoever's in charge already knows what's going on without my knee-bending.

I knew I'd have to deal with the Housing Lady eventually, so I wrote a note that, remarkably, I'd found someone willing to rent to me (with my dog). I explained the homeowner had Covid (I didn't know) and was unable to get out; and because she had patients we wouldn't be able to speak until 4pm (on the 6th).  Did I have to have all three forms completed now, or just the Request for Inspection in order for the clock to stop?  Also, the extension paper included, 

"If you have not requested an inspection by the date listed above (Jan 7), your voucher will expire and be issued to the next applicant on the waiting list and you will have to re-apply for assistance. There will be no further extensions available."

Did that mean I had to have the paperwork in by the end of day on the 6th, or do I have all day on the 7th?  Her answer was that I had to have the Request for Inspection in by the 7th.  Again, for written proof, I asked whether I could submit the request the next morning and she confirmed, Yes.

Just before 4 the homeowner called.  As usual I began speaking about how I needed the information but would try to simplify her life by doing as much as I can on my own.  Was she familiar with the Section 8 program?

No, but she helped some of her patients with their voucher extension requests.  I continued my spiel, until at one breath she broke in,

"Wait, wait...I'm willing to help you stop the clock, but you still have to find a place to rent. I'm renting my places for $1,500; they're two bedrooms, not a bad rate."  Nope, not for around here.  "I have to, it's my retirement.  I can help you apply for an extension for PTSD reasons," I'm not making this up, "and you can submit the request for inspection; but then you'll have to tell them that the deal fell through. You'll have to work like crazy to find someplace to rent, but at least you'll have some extra time."  Mary knew all this, she said; but obviously something got lost in the translation.

I never even got upset.  Of course...naturally....what else?   I thanked her for her offer, but I couldn't do something unethical like that.  Besides, it would surely come back to bite me in the como-se-llama.  Plus it seemed to me that when the clock would re-start I'd have whatever time would have remained of my original cutoff date, which in my case was none.  Even if I'm wrong, I don't have it in me to try anymore.

"I can't believe," she said, "that they aren't giving additional time, especially because of the state of things."  Covid, the Alameda fire, overall lack of affordable housing.

She didn't have to tell me.   She agreed with my decision not to give up BC, otherwise I surely could have found something.  She was easy to talk to, no wonder she's a therapist.  She completely understood my situation, since her sister's in the same boat as me, and with a housing allowance less than mine. She'll easily rent her places in this market, can't blame her.  We enjoyed a lengthy chat, both sorry it couldn't work out but she said the same as everybody else:

"There's something else in store for you, I'm certain of it."

I promised to let her know.  I wrote to the Housing Lady, telling her the deal fell through for reasons I wouldn't bother describing.  I shouldn't have even written, I wrote, except as long as I did it seemed a perfect opportunity to apologize for being such a so-and-so, nothing personal.  I don't want that on my conscience, and I can still write articles.

So that's the rest of my story.  I'm going to relax and give myself a few days to balance out my equilibrium before I begin anything new.  Start clearing out this place; out with the old, and all, especially since I won't have all those kitchen cabinets.  Then I'll be ready to pull out those 2022 Big Girl Bloomers and move on!

* This past September I began The Hungry Games, my personal account of navigating the Section 8 Low-Income Housing Program.  This might be of interest to anyone you know going through something similar.  Feel free to write with questions.