homeless equals restless

I'm back in my cold, attic room at K's, just like this time last month. Technically, even though it's really super cold up here, I *am* sleeping in a bed with a roof over my head, so I am not *really* homeless. I work with people who are *really* homeless, so I should know.

But for me, (Scorpio/Cancer, double crustacean, territorial hermit) "sleeping" somewhere isn't the same as "living" somewhere. I'm getting tired of "living" out of three bags piled on the floor, whiling away my hours in coffeeshops on free wireless, eating meals out because I don't really have a kitchen to cook in.

Meanwhile, I dread the task of packing and moving. I dread dismantling the home I shared with C.B., I dread disentangling "my" stuff from "her" stuff, especially regarding the stuff we've so long considered "ours."

I haven't seen her yet since I've been back. Her youngest son picked me up from the airport on Thursday in my car, which I'd let him use while I was gone. He's moving in with C.B. and he asked to be dropped at her house. She wasn't there when I pulled up. I risked it and ran in for a minute to grab my two-week's stack of mail. There was another of her notes in my room next to a pile of my books that she had removed from her bedroom. The note was nice, but I've learned not to trust her nice notes. I put it my pocket, regardless, and left quickly.

I need to call her, but I'm putting it off. The last few interactions have been so bad, I'm just not ready for another round. Instead, I wonder how she's doing but try not to imagine how she spends her time. It's too depressing. School will start up in two days and no longer will I have time to worry about anything but the day to day juggle of classes and homework. I think it will be a relief.