Originally, the house came with a dear friend who had already experienced me at my best and almost-worst, and an adorable, eccentric chihuahua.
Together, the woman and the dog saved me from an intersection of illness and bullying housemates. For the following year they continued to save me, at the end of which they moved cities and, delightfully, left me the house.
Two years more in the little house with a courtyard garden in hipster heartland saw me recover speedily and not enough. It also scooped up most of my money, which wasn’t much to begin with.
I moved out last week. My jasmine began to flower the week before.
The house I have moved into is much farther from the city and much closer to what I can afford. It is also equipped with an enthusiastic dog, two appropriately haughty cats, an enormous yard complete with fruit trees, and housemates who I only know a little but who seem to be my people.
I slept well last night on an unfamiliar bed made up with my own linens.