I'll be driving home tonight, to my new home, with the last carload of my stuff.
The old home was not a good place to be, but I was willing to put up with it, until our landlords had to give everyone a three-day vacate notice.
It seems our neighbors had issues with how many of my housemates were either severely mentally ill, registered sex offenders and other convicted criminals, or caught using illegal drugs on the premises.
The final straw seemed to be when one of my housemates - a schizophrenic - had the child of another of my housemates - a paroled child molester - and social services came to take the child away.
My new home is a clean and sober house, but that's okay, because I don't drink anyway, and what's really sad is, the last clean and sober house I lived in was the one place I've felt safest, out of all the homes I've lived in after leaving the military.
Yes, I'm living with recovering addicts, but they have rules, and my experience has been that addicts in clean and sober houses do a damned good job of living up to those rules.
Problem is, the new home does not have a cable outlet in my room yet - a quick enough fix, especially since the house as a whole is already wired for cable, the cost of which is covered by my rent - and more importantly, I'm going to have to go through the process of getting cable Internet all over again.
So, in the meantime, I really don't want to go home, because there's nothing for me there.
Dammit.
I hate moving.
I hate loading everything I own into my car - and making several trips to do it - and I hate the inevitable sense of failure and defeat that looms over my head, every time I do it.
I hate the fact that my body aches, and I hate the fact that I've just added half an hour to my commute.
Dammit.