Listen to Jason Isbell; Take a math test.

Q. Guess what is the worst?
A. Packing your shit up when you truly didn't think you'd be leaving this house - that is, until Baby was on the way.  That ring would sparkle from your finger as you planned how to decorate your new home which Ex-Man was building for you - all on a plot of land large enough to encompass your rose garden, chicken coop, and Future goats.  And all of those goddamned babies.

or, you know, into a shared apartment in a complex across town.

Nobody is bitter, least of all me.

(Jen Lancaster, y'all.  she's HILARIOUS)

 I am frustrated, because I decorated here. I painted, and steam-cleaned.   I bought a mirror to match the living room, and pilllows to match the kettle on the woodstove. I framed pleasing photos of the two of us.  I planted lilacs, hydrangeas, purple phlox around the mailbox.  Now, holy hell, next year those bulbs I planted will bloom and he will probably run them over with the lawnmower.  Or worse, he won't.  I've lived here for 2 1/2 years, which is longer than I've lived ANYWHERE since I lived with my parents. Also, I have never been good at sucking things up.  I will mourn the shit out of this relationship.