Because Alex, the dogs and I are hangin’ in the attic, it should come as no surprise that our space is limited. We’re doing pretty well- though we have yet to unpack and arrange everything- but there have been some distinct problems.

The two rooms are carpeted, so we feed the dogs in the bathroom on the linoleum floor.  We also store the dog food and dog treats in there.  We thought it was working pretty well… until tonight.

Alex called me upstairs with the voice I automatically react to with fear and dread.  Something was wrong.  I crept to the top of the stairs, filled with apprehension.  As I rounded the corner I saw the awful tableau of two cringing dogs and one massively angry husband. 

“I called you up so you can beat them this time.”

Uh, Oh.

Alex gestured to the bathroom.  “They went after the treats.”

The tub of treats was on the floor, chewed open, most of the contents gone.  But that wasn’t the only thing chewed up.  They had also gone after the empty treat bag-which is logical- in addition to cotton balls, razors and tooth paste, – which is not.  Ok, the toothpaste, maybe; at least it has flavor and goes in your mouth.  But cotton balls?  Two different packs of razors?  How dumb do you have to be to go for those when you’re scavenging for treats? 

At least they didn’t actually eat the razors; they just ripped open the packs.  It looks like they tried the toothpaste, but didn’t like it enough to eat all of it.  I have no idea if they ate the cotton balls; lots were strewn around and I didn’t bother to count.  I’m sure we’ll find out later.

The dogs were admonished appropriately (no, no beatings, but some yelling) and the mess was cleaned up.  No dinner though, we think they ate enough.

The treats are now on the top of the pretty étagère where I keep makeup and perfume instead of the sturdy wire shelves.

Oh, well.  No one goes up there but us anyway.

As I was driving home from work the other day- well, more like creeping, the traffic was pretty bad- I found myself thinking about my journey so far.  I realized that I have been in Pittsburgh a little over a month and already I’m working, considering new neighborhoods to live in when Alex gets a job and generally enjoying city life. 

Two months ago, I was fretting daily over the crappy business, the crappy job, and the imminent loss of my home.  I took pills almost every night to help me sleep, my skin looked awful; I was over-stressed.  There are still things that are up in the air with my house and the business, but I’m not nearly as worried as I was.  I finally feel like I’m moving forward.

From the first day we arrived, I’ve been sleeping without any problems.  I actually got the first job I interviewed for.  The weather has been nice, the food has been good, and I’m really enjoying being around family all the time.

What I guess I’m saying is that sometimes, you’ve just got to trust that if you keep trying, things are going to work out.  They may not work out like you anticipated, but maybe what you thought was the best thing for you, just wasn’t.  It took going busted broke to get us out of Memphis.  We had to lose everything in order to rebuild our lives in a way that would lead us in a new direction; one that could very well make us happier than we ever would have been with our business.

There are still a lot of challenges ahead.  Alex has to find work, too.  We don’t want to outstay our welcome with R, K, and E, so we need to find a home of our own.  We’d like to make new friends while staying in touch with the ones we left behind. But, I think we’ve made a good start.

Whether you believe in a higher power or not, I think there’s something to be said for allowing yourself to be led to new places and being open to whatever the universe has in store. 

At least, it seems to be working for me.

Frustrated, but not beaten, I went home from the Penn DOT sans new license.  After raging around the house a little I got online and found that there are several sites that will send you a birth certificate in a very short period of time.  For a price, of course.  After calling my mom to make sure she didn’t already have a copy, I ordered up my birth certificate.  I had to pay $75, but at least it would arrive in a couple of business days.  The bad news was, I ordered Wednesday evening and if it didn’t arrive by the end of the week, I’d have to take time off of my brand new job to get it done. (I had delayed starting the job that week so I could get this stuff finished.  It wouldn’t look good if I said I needed the week and still didn’t get anything accomplished.) The good news was, I called the Memphis Jury Commission and pretended that I didn’t know what I needed to provide in order to prove I had moved.  The lady on the phone said all I needed to do was fax “something with my new address on it.”  It kills me that I could have gotten that done ages ago.  Why in the world was the other lady so adamant that I send in my vehicle registration?  However, while the pressure was off as far as the jury duty was concerned; I still wanted to get it done for the job.  Plus, I became bound and determined to get my stupid license by the end of the week. 

On Thursday, I got a call saying my birth certificate would be delivered that day.  UPS doesn’t tell you exactly when, of course.  So, I ran to the window every time I heard a car, just hoping it would be the UPS guy with my package.  We were scheduled to meet K downtown for lunch in anticipation that we would also visit the DOT again.  But it was not to be, the package didn’t arrive until around 4pm.  We had a nice lunch, though.

Friday we set out for the DOT for hopefully the last time.  The line was longer…much longer than the first trip.  Instead of the easy half-hour wait from the last time, it was looking more like two hours.  My nephew was off from school, so we had to bring him along.  I must say, playing UNO with a 7-yr-old does make the time go a little faster.  This time, Alex and I got separate numbers so he could get his license too.  K works in the same building as the DOT, so she came down at just the right time to accompany Alex while R went with me. 

As luck would have it, I was directed to Mr. Happy again.  I plopped down my file filled with every piece of mail I possess that has my new address on it and began whipping out the info.  I had a brief moment of panic when I couldn’t find my social security card, but it was where I put it, I was just nervous.  R had to hand over his license for inspection, and then I filled out a form that asked if I have any impairing diseases or if I’m an alcoholic. (If I was, I sure wouldn’t tell the truth about it at this point.  Would anyone? 

Mr. Happy: “Is there anything wrong with you that may make you an unsafe driver?”

Person: “Yes, I’m a terrible alcoholic.” 

Mr. Happy: “Get out.”)

While R and I were sweating it out, we heard Alex and K at the next desk laughing and chatting with their guy.  It turns out; he didn’t even ask K for her license.  All Alex needed was his change of address confirmation from the post office.  Not a bill, mortgage statement, rental agreement, or witness, just a note from the post office. He did need his birth certificate; at least that was the same.

So there’s your proof.  Mr. Happy was just out to get me.