So, it’s happened: we are officially homeless. I mean, don’t worry about us or anything: we have a place to sleep and eat and relax, but we don’t own a home. Matt reminded me that it’s been over 11 years since we’ve been in this situation. We don’t live under the bridge.

I’ve had friends ask how I’m feeling. I tell them that I’m feeling a lot. I can’t quite identity what my feelings are exactly. I think overall I feel sad, because I sometimes want to cry and I sometimes want to go back to our condo and start over and I sometimes wonder if we’re doing the right thing at all.

I have to remind myself that we had indeed out grown the condo and our time had come to move on anyways. It was a really happy space for us, compared to some of our other homes, so I suppose I wasn’t prepared to feel a sort of grief in leaving. Our other homes I was happy to move along (drop it like it’s hot!) and get going on the next thing, but as a friend reminded me, we don’t really have a place to move onto yet. I mean, we do, but everything is still sorta cloudy in my mind, I don’t have real things to grasp onto yet: it’s all just photos and dreams.