Ninety eight days and counting...
It's actually more like 68 days - once that last rent check is written, the move is on in earnest. I thought I'd be feeling a sense of relief, but in reality I find myself increasingly anxious. And I think that's because I have this fear that leaving this place isn't going to be as easy as we had hoped.
When the decision was made months ago to just do our time and beat a hasty retreat, I pictured "The End" as more along the lines of "To Wong Foo..." - two queens riding off into the sunset after an unfortunate detour in life; important life lessons learned from the simple folk of Hooterville; leaving Bako a little better off than when they found it.
Fat chance.
You want a life lesson? Don't eat at Applebee's. That's about all I'm taking away from this experience. That, and I now know more about cockroaches than I care to admit.
No, I think our exit from Dogpatch is going to end up being a little more harrowing.
More like "The Poseidon Adventure".
Both of us clawing our way out for survival.
Here's to hoping I don't end up like poor Shelley Winters...
