cellini's Diaryland Diary

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New home coming, but fuck this.

In less than two weeks I move into a house.

Holy fuck, a house. A place where I live, under my own control. What has it been? Three years? Four? I don't even fucking know.

How long since I have existed as a human being with my own autonomy?

Granted, I don't want to fucking be here. In fucking Gainesville, Florida. Without my kids here. In this place that I have grown to seriously dislike. But to have a place that is mine? Oh fuck, I have missed that.

I've been here in Florida since late September. Renting rooms, staying periodically with a woman who comes from money but is wildly in appropriate for me.

Meghan. Grew up in Alabama, her father is the scion of some weird dynasty with a kingdom of furniture stores that are apparently a big deal in this region. She literally didn't know how to put water on to a simmer, on account of having cooks deal with that when she was a kid. Oh, and also she was a stripper and has two DUIs and used to do heroin. And then nominally got her shit together and got a Masters degree in public administration and had a senior role at a mental health organization before getting fired in December and then being involuntarily committed to a mental institution.

Huh, so I'm accidentally dating that. Great. At least I don't have to use condoms and she's on the pill.

What the fuck even is my life?

Oh, and she is head-over-heels in love with me. So I've got that going for me.

I move into this new place around February 2nd or 3rd, depending on how long it takes for the owner to pack her shit up.

It's The Castle. This woman decorated her house like a castle, but imagine a kindergarten classroom's idea of what the interior of a classroom should look like. That's also why I am able to rent the place with a horrible credit score following my year of being broke and doing civil rights journalism. Everyone else who was interested demanded that she cover up the awful murals and remove the suits of armor and general castle decor. I'm just like, 'cool, whatever.'

It has a stage. In the main living room or whatever that room was, with a piano. Honestly, as far as I am concerned, the stage and the piano are positive elements. Again, this is why she jumped on renting to me rather than going through an agency.

I have about 20 days til I get to be a real person again.

This Friday I fly back home to Charlottesville. Then back to fucking Florida on the following Monday.

I hate all of this. I want to go home. I miss my wife. I sent her an email a few days ago just telling her I love her. She responded but I can't bring myself to look at it.

In summary, fuck this situation. It's about to get somewhat better. I will be able to engage in hobbies and cook properly. But fuck this whole thing. I want to go home.

9:07 p.m. - 2019-01-22

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