Oh, Shit. I Have Two Weeks to Move

D-Day for yours truly.  I found out today that I have to be out of my apartment on the 31st.  I'm still too rattled by the freshness of my dilemma to have any coherent words to put to it.

Certainly, I knew this was a possibility, but lately the mood has been that we would be able to stay and that the landlord was going to fail in evicting.  Well, as it turns out, that's only ½ right - or to be more precise, 3/4 right.  John, Gary, and Liza get to stay.  But the judge ruled that because I was there through Maya, I - like her - was an illegal subtenant and that I had to move out in order for them to effect a cure.  To his credit, the judge took both parties to task for being less than on the level, and noted that it was the only honest and straightforward person there who was getting bent over and fucked hard - and not in a good way.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do at this point.  I have no money for moving costs, but John suggested that I might be able to borrow against my retirement plan.  Depending on how quickly that can happen, maybe I could get Doug to advance me some money, and repay him once that check comes through.

Still, the biggest obstacle is going to be my credit history.  That's going to make it really difficult to get an apartment of my own.  We'll see... I'm too wigged out right now to deal.

I know that wigged-ness can't last long.  I have to get off my ass tomorrow and see what I can do about getting money quickly.  No procrastinating for me, this time around!

In an ideal world, I'd like to get a place of my own, and eventually collect all my crap from storage at my sister's place, and my furniture from Gavan's.  It may be a pipe dream, but who knows?