In three weeks, I leave for Colorado.
I don't have a job. I don't have a place to live. My husband doesn't have permission from his ex-wife to leave the state and move with me, unless he agrees to give up even more time with his daughter.
Oh. And as of last week, I don't have a car to leave in, because my engine blew up out of nowhere.
That's okay though.
Because remember that fluke job I applied for last year? Those third-world country wages are turning into an actual, full-time job this month. A full-time job paying enough to support us, with paid holidays and time off that I can take with me wherever I want to live. Including Colorado.
And the housing? I have an amazing sister who can't wait for me to overstay my welcome with her. And she's got this awesome basement guest room that's one of those magical places, like you breathe more deeply there or something. So that's perfect for now, and something else will work out when I get up there.
The car? Married a guy who is able to say "No problem, honey. We'll just put in a new engine." So that's set. Thanks, Husband. And thanks, tax returns.
The custody crap? Irritating, but hardly the worst blow we've had come from that direction. Dan can't leave until he finishes remodeling his parents' house anyway, so we'll hope that some people become more reasonable before he pounds the last nail. Dan says that'll be before Thanksgiving; I say next summer. Will I miss him? Yep. But that'll work itself out somehow too.
Everything is uncertain, and yet it hardly matters. Everything always works out. Always. Never once have I leapt and not landed somewhere solid, so I've decided to stop worrying. Even the stupid crap ends up being for the best somehow, no matter how much you'd like to slap the idiots who say that to you in your darkest moments.
Damned optimists. They're right every damned time.
It makes me smile.