My landlord came around tonight and told me that the people who own the Lookout want to sell it. Well, ain't that just great news to hear five days before your birthday! He says he has advised the owners not to put the house on the market before the Spring, but since the Estate Agents want to come around and value the place straight away, I'm not taking anything for granted. Gonna have to start looking for somewhere else tomorrow.
Which is fine. I've lived in the Lookout for three years, and though I've had some great times here, the really good times were a long time ago, when you-know-who was still with me and our love was young and insane. I've had some fun since she was last here, sometime last April or March, but it's not really been the same. So if she's not going to warm the chair at my computer table anymore, maybe the time is ripe for packing the saddlebags and moving it along.
But moving's no fun. It's stressful trying to organise it, plan it, then make it all happen. And bloody expensive too, for a broken-down poet who can turn money into water that trickles through his hands. I will have to do a comprehensive clean of the Lookout to see if there's a snowball's chance in Hell of me getting my deposit back, so I have a deposit for the next place. I'll start with the wax on the carpet where I kicked over a candle, continue by trying to glue the front door back together and work out what needs doing after that!