Heartless

 I just missed my window of opportunity to write another upbeat post. The job I mentioned in my last post didn't work out, but my dad was contacted by another one shortly afterward. And we got accepted. And as part of the job, we got a house as well. We spent 48 hours in comparative luxury, full of gratitude for how good our life had become. From our beautiful new house, we could see both the ocean and the snow-tipped mountains from opposite windows. The backyard was big enough to exercise the dogs and for the kids to play. It was five minutes from town, where besides every shop we could ever need, there was an agility club that not only did training but also held competitions three times a year. It couldn't be more perfect and I was happier than I had been for a long time. The future looked good. What a wonderful 48 hours it was. 

View to the west.

View to the east.

My lovely bedroom all set up on Saturday night.

But then yesterday morning, the boss/landlord turned up as we were returning from a walk down the road with our dogs. He seemed confused. He asked how many dogs we had. Even though that information was in my dad's cover letter and we had also told him at the interview, he claimed he "hadn't realized" how many we had. And he wasn't happy. We spoke at length with the boss about it, trying to compromise, but he could not be swayed.

And so our happy little life has imploded around us once again. We can stay here for the week, but after that, we have to leave. And go where? There's nothing. I'm devastated. I am so tired of everything going wrong. What is the point? Why does this keep happening? I gave up almost everything to come back to New Zealand and for a brief moment, I thought it may have been worth it. But now I wish I was still living in the bus on our empty property where at least we didn't have to worry about being kicked out and I had Logan and Pixie and my small group of friends.