^{this is mo, thinking about stuff. i took this picture of myself.}

When I woke up last Thursday, I had no idea that I would be making the choice to be homeless thirty minutes later. It's a decision that I don't regret making, even if living in my car sucks. I am privileged in my homelessness. Let me say that again: I am privileged in my homelessness.

How is there privilege in being without a place to call your own, you ask?
I have a job. A good one. I can make as much, or as little, money as I want to in a week. I have a car, thereby technically a roof over my head. This roof even comes complete with a skylight. I have friends who make sure that I am okay, and if I were closer, would house me.

BUT....I made this bed; I'm going to lay in it.

Yeah, it's sad and it makes me cry every night and every morning, but I made the decision to spare my sanity and leave the house I was in. I made the decision to share my money and put other's needs ahead of my own. To my own fucking detriment. I chose this when I chose to come back home to Michigan. I chose this when I chose to room with someone who until recently was a friend of 15 years. What I didn't know was that this friend had issues that you don't see when you don't live with them.

My space wasn't sacred to anyone but me.

She would go through my things when I wasn't home and would take what she wanted. If she wanted the softer bum roll that I would buy, she would simply go into my room and take it for herself. That granola that I had to work a half-hour for? She let her daughter and friends help themselves to that. The tuna packs that I would buy to have something to eat should I want it? She fed that to her cat. Not that the spawn of Satan didn't have food, he did. She felt that he deserved MY food. 'Scuse my French, but....

Fuck. That. Noise.

I like cats. I realllly do. But this cat was evil. It was the cat that broke the camel's back. I knew I should have let that little asshole run away. Better he be homeless than me. BUT, I didn't want to hear the incessant whinging of my former friend/housemate — truthfully, it's my conscience I wouldn't be able to deal with , so I never left the door open long enough for him to go through it. He woke me up that fateful morning. He sent me over the edge. Or, it was They Who Let the Little Jerk in and Didn't Let Him Out.

I was asleep, minding my own business when....

It sounded like the cat was screaming bloody murder. Not just the usual, 'Hey! You left me in here!' meow, but a full blown MEEEEEOOOOWWW...over and over and over and over and over. I open my eyes after only being asleep for a couple of hours to find the cat screaming at the door and my not cheap laptop laying opened face down on the floor.

Rage doesn't cover it.

Nobody would cop to being the one that was in my room. Not that that surprises me. A home with no boundaries is not expected to have those who practice accountability in it. I let them have it. I let them have it for the boundary issue; for the pill-addicted daughter that got me terminated from one job; for the time she stuck her shitty ass in my face as I slept; for the time she sat on the edge of the bed with the same shitty ass; for the time she ate my food; for the time she took my toilet paper; for the time...
For the time... For the time.... For the time....

FOR.THE.LAST.FUCKING.TIME.

I will be blogging about this experience as my journey progresses. I have my eye on a few rooms that are being sublet while the students are home for the summer. Hopefully one comes through soon. I am kind of a princess. I like things like a bed, shower, and a safe place to close my eyes.

Thanks for reading!

All gifs were jacked from Giphy