I Lost My House

I’m No Capitalist

I should finally mention this: about two weeks ago I moved out of my house. Paying the mortgage -something I’d struggled to do during the awful years with Charles - is finally beyond me.

I’m back to where I was before the allure of a bright, charming femme gay guy caused me to make the single biggest mistake of my life. Gordon has restored me to the two rooms in his house that I was living in then.

The day of the move I was pretty sour and bitter. That I’m really lucky and fortunate to have such a friend is something I never forget. But losing the house hurts.

It is a proof of my failure as an intelligent person. And it even bites that irreducible residuum of gender identity that I have.

But it does reduce the level of terror in my life.

It doesn’t matter right now but I know from when I was here before it does cramp hooking up (and some endeavors take considerable time and room).