It’s once again time to pour yourself a half-empty glass of fine whine and come join us in the weekly complaint department.
WYFP (What’s Your F#%king Problem) is our community’s Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else we think might help. Everyone, and all sorts of troubles, are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. And won’t you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?
Nine years ago today I was surrounded by packing boxes. Life was all about cardboard and sticky tape and marking pens. Friends would ask; “Are you excited?” It seemed an odd question. I was numb. I was just going through the motions. This needs to be done, that needs to be signed, those calls need to be made. We were down to the last errands, the last bit of packing up, the last goodbyes.
Nine months earlier than that I was sitting at the computer in my home office when my boyfriend returned from registering for classes at UNM. He was three semesters from graduating with a degree in Art History. Four of the classes he needed to take that semester had just been cancelled. The previous two semesters were not much better. We then decided that late August day to move to Philadelphia, so that he could shift gears and continue his education elsewhere.
Nine years ago and one week from today we were sitting on the curb in front of our adobe duplex, facing the Sandia Mountains to the east. It was nine o’clock in the morning. A few minutes later the bright orange moving van rounded the corner from Roma Avenue onto our street. It was then, with everything packed, everything done, everything finalized, that I could finally feel something, and that was my heart sinking.
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