1

I’m moving this week and I’m worried — what? I didn’t tell you I was moving? How is that possible? That’s all I talk about. It’s the centrepiece of my menopausal midlife crisis. Short version: I bought a house I’m not sure I can afford with imaginary money I’m still expecting the bank to claw back from me at the last minute, all to assuage the (imagined) fear that I’d be 50 and living under a bridge and the (very real) housing insecurity the comes from living on a six-month lease in a rented crackhouse that’s about to be be torn down.

Anyway. Yeah. I bought a house. Well, a condo. Townhouse? It’s a vertical, three-story affair that faces onto an alley — not a coincidence that it has so many of the characteristics of the place I lived for 15 years and which I loved so much. It’s old and it needs not just new paint but new floors and electrical work and a new bathtub and OMG I bought a moneypit, what have I done?

And it probably comes with a crazy condo board — they are all crazy.

But it’s mine. (Or it will be unless the bank changes its mind tomorrow. They can’t do that, right? They won’t do that.)  It’s mine. I’m the only one who can raise my rent (well, also the Central Bank, but whatever, don’t think about that). I’m the one who decides how long I get to live there. And I can paint the walls. And hammer in nails.

Mine.

It’s intoxicating.

Until I think about the money and then it’s terrifying. So I’m trying to not do that. The money will work out. I’ll figure out the budget. I’ll figure it all out and I’ll still be able to take the kids out for sushi once in a while.

(Repeat until you believe.)

2

So I’m moving and I’m packing and living in chaos and of course stuff is coming up — stuff I thought I had dealt with, stuff I didn’t think I needed to deal with.

Dealing with stuff sucks. I’d really rather not.

Here’s what I want to focus on: Four years ago, I was severely underemployed (thanks, COVID), in debt, paying rent on a one-bedroom basement suite (although it was a lovely basement suite) with imaginary money, with part-time access to a battered car that I didn’t like and didn’t want — and I wasn’t sure my children would ever love me again.

Today — I’m pretty sure my children love me, I’m about to move into MY house, the mortgage on which is my only debt, I drive a funky VW Beetle that I’m way too fond of, I have a job at which I’m valued and well-enumerated — and did I mention that I’m about to move into MY house? And MY house has space for all the children — a bedroom for Ender, a bone room for Flora and a garage where Cinder can store his motorcycle and make things. And a lover who adores me and treats me so well and oh, so much love, and also, did I mention, I bought a house, I’m about to move into MY house?

I did ok.

So it’s also ok that I’m tired. And that I haven’t published a book in four years.

(Repeat until you believe.)

3

I’m moving and everyone is helping me. I’m loved and I’m supported and I will not die alone, eaten by my cats.

(Repeat until you believe.)

Editorial note: Can you make that “I’m loved and I’m supported sentence” more positive? Like, cut that “I will not die alone, eaten by my cats” part?

Jane: In the end, everyone dies alone. And there are worse fates than being eaten by cats posthumously. Being eaten by cats while still alive would, I grant you, be unpleasant.

Editorial voice: What’s wrong with you?

Jane: Nothing.

(Repeat until you believe.)

4

I’m moving and I’m so excited and I can’t wait to show you MY house and everyone is helping me and I’ve done so much over the last four years and I’m loved and supported and oh, I’m going to write so much in my new house.

(Repeat until you believe.)

xoxo

“Jane”