My 16th Apology

This actually has nothing to do with apologies, just the first line of the eponymous song by Shakespeare's Sister things were going well... till I died.  And things were going well, which made me feel kind of guilty for all that nearly everyone else I know and care for was getting shat upon.  Pro sale!  Rhysling nominations!  A decent refund on taxes!  A raise!  A bonus! 

This too, did pass.

Now, we have learned that the price of oil has risen to the point where our rent no longer includes heat.  It was a good deal when we took it, long ago, but the rent on this place was stretching what we could afford, back when d|p had steady full-time work and when the cost of my health insurance meant I took home more than I do now (two more raises and I will be taking home as much as I did when I first started working, and I have, by all accounts, really good insurance).  

d|p is not going to have steady, full time work for a really long time, this being her second semester of going back to school.  I could never carry this place, unless somehow I manage a pro sale a month (2 in a year is well, 2 more than ever, more or less, so I am not writing while holding my breath) so away we go.  Looking for something in the same general area, possibly a little further south and west (though too far south screws up d|p's commute and too far west screws up mine).  

I like this place.  It's got a lot of light and a lot of space and the cats like it and the pigs like it, and it has laundry hook-up, and the landlord is a great guy.  Problem is, we have no more money - the place was always just a little more than we should be carrying and we only went for it because it was heat-included.  

Things were going well.