On Being A Nomad

It’s easy to call myself a nomad. Or joke that I’m homeless. But joking about homelessness is in poor taste. I may not have a home of my own at the moment, but I have a roof over my head and keys to come and go as I please. I am definitely in a weird place in life, though.

I haven’t blogged in ages and it’s been even longer since I blogged here in this space [more on that later]. So let me catch you up.

My partner and I adopted a baby girl last winter/spring. The adoption was finalized just one month before my partner’s job ended. Since there’s really only one employer in an given town for what he does, that meant we had to move. But we were so preoccupied with our new micro preemie that job hunting did not happen in full force. Living on one salary with a new baby in a major metropolitan area (read: pri$ey) was not really doable. So we moved in with his mother. And his mentally ill brother. Who mostly lives on the streets these days.

Hilarity ensues.
Insanity ensues.
The shit show that is Election 2016 ensues.

Send Xanax.

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2 thoughts on “On Being A Nomad

  1. It’s nice to have you blogging again! Oh boy this sounds like a lot going on all at once. I lived with my MIL for three months as I was studying for the bar (this was before my now-husband proposed) which was quite the sh*tshow but I can’t imagine doing it with a micropremie and a mentally unstable BIL. How is your daughter doing?

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