I Think I Might be Dying
In June, I landed back in Tucson after the first almost-half of 2022 “away”. I left looking for “home” that fits, and learned enough to create a new wish list, but not once, not ever, did that list include anything resembling where I am now. All the changes since 2020 created a real hardship on people who rent homes. (Because of my neighbor curse, I have rented since I had to pay my own, except for six years in the early 2000s.) The remote-worker migration and the to-and-fro for the nomads caused, as it happens with the yin and yang, the good and bad of everything, a new level of greed the likes of which I’ve never seen.
Homeowners and investors no longer wanted to rent homes to long-term (year-lease) renters. The big money was in AirBnB and VRBO arrangements. Anybody who did opt for the more traditional arrangements knew they could triple the rent and get it, especially if you were in a “destination” location. A typical traditional lease in Tucson was elusive, to say the lease, but when one did come along, it was $3,000 per month for a mid-century dump, and even crazier, snatched up in minutes. Not days, not hours, minutes. Oftentimes, sight unseen.
I couldn’t beat ‘em, so I had to join ‘em (as the used, not the user). I opted to Airbnb for 6 months, in hopes of riding it all out. Eventually, I did miss having a home. I’m a gal who needs an address. The market has eased, but not entirely. When I applied for a couple of things, they were snatched up before my ink was dry and by people willing to sign 2- and 3-year leases. The negotiations were sickening, and mostly made me just want to cry. What a sad world.
So, back to Tucson, I went. I got a Zillow alert on my phone at the first red light off the exit. No lie. The house was the nicest and most reasonably priced I’d seen in two years. I saw it the next day and signed the lease the next. I now live in an active adult (that sounds so dirty, and I suspect from the newsletters that there is some of that) community. It wasn't my intention, it’s not me, it never occurred to me, and it’s everything you would think it is. Beautifully maintained, and all the adult daycare amenities demanded by the entitled and bitter retirement set here in Tucson.
I suspect death is nigh.
Since Jupiter and Mars smiled at each other (or some such thing) on April 12th, life has been very different. I haven't had ONE neighbor complaint. Not in a single Airbnb and not in this house. (Well, there’s a floodlight situation with Gertrude and Wilbur behind me, but that’s a topic for another time.)
I have for real (and zero cost) medical insurance now for the first time in 20+ years, and if I can get over my hatred for doctors, I might put my bum shoulder in the shop.
I have a full-time remote job that I have dearly loved for over two years now. I had a freelance gig for a while that paid off the student loan I owed my kid from his Senior year of college 10 years ago (loan shark payment system, these Feds). But, even though I know the only security in this world is in me, I have a sense of the possibility of it for my working duration.
I have a son who is no longer a student and who is making more money than I ever made and who inherited some money this year, so also has more savings than I ever had.
I bought an old radio (like Everybody Loves Raymond’s Frank and his jazz CDs) that arrived my first full day in the house and was tuned to a station called The Drive that plays songs like Moonlight Feels Right, The Year of the Cat, Tequila Sunrise, Dobie Gray’s Drift Away, Heard It in a Love Song, and Against the Wind.
I have no barking dogs, no music blaring, no muffler-less trucks (they don’t fit in the garages here). Instead, I have an HOA who damn near patrols the neighborhood. This may sound like a bad thing, or a Karen thing, but it’s been a problem my entire life and at the top of my wish list. And the whole ‘hood shuts down around 7pm. (It's not nirvana by any means, but that’s also a topic for another day.)
Most of all, I have no Mormons with More Than an Acre. Dear God, the PTSD after four years with those freaks. You can't convince me otherwise. They're just a shady people with no moral or ethical compass. Those parts in Hulu’s Banner of Heaven show about thinking they’re above the law and the rest of us, and abusing animals? Couldn't be more accurate. “Instruments of the Lord”, don'tcha know.
Oh, and I’ve solved the last four Wordles in the second row.
I took off for Columbia, Missouri, in January, for no other reason than I was following God. And weather. (Someday, I'm leaving Tucson. I have loved it here. It's something to see and experience. But how much sun can a person wake up to? I'm a rainy, gloomy, cold, dreary day kind of gal.) God wasn't in Columbia or maybe He was, actually. I just mean he didn't call me up and invite me for a visit. He had sent me so many, many signs, though. Also, a topic for another day. I really want to write about this soon as sort of my own Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, minus all the exercise.
Anyway, I followed God, and now I'm either being rewarded or I’m about to die. If the first, I’m grateful for the quiet, and if the latter, the new insurance should cover it.