To find home, ask for help

It was only a minor little meltdown in our morning meeting today. A few tears, you know, before the big burst (ask Lisa about it, she does a great imitation). "I have no where to live," I choked.

It's been three months of searching for the right place. When you're single, and on a budget, the choices are very, odd. Every "look-see" felt like a horrible, blind date. The kind of date where you want to leave as soon as the door opens.

But I was tired. I'd spent last night's sleep actually sweating out the living options ... as if I could think my way into a solution, by sheer brain power. It never happens that way.

So as I blubbered this morning, dreary and weary, I asked for help and I got it. My co-workers turned their sad eyes, and support, towards me.

And now, I think I've found the place. It's on the top floor of a third floor building. It's the corner room, with high, vaulted ceilings. A sunroom with French doors--perfect for songwriting. An actual place for my actual washer and dryer. Big, bright windows in the bedroom. A fireplace. A lake just a short walk down the drive. Only 5 miles from KI.

And trees. Trees. Trees. My own little tree house, where the shimmering green leaves whisper and wink in the breeze.

Leaves I'll never have to rake.