When I got the email from the chicken-shit owner legally notifying me that I had 30 days to vacate the premises, I was angry. Intensely angry. After all, he and I had sat down just a few days prior for a heart-to-heart conversation, and I was left with the understanding that the earliest a possible sale could happen was February, 2018. During this talk, I explained how unfathomable it was for me to consider moving in with my dad, and I was told by the owner that he wasn't really looking to sell and that the realtor was just going to give him a few ideas.
So basically, the owner lied straight to my face.
It's not surprising, all things considered. The owner is basically an immature coward who relies on excuses — often lame ones — to explain away his flaws. I'm sure he even has an excuse (or two or three) for having misled me about the "possible" sale. It's one of the results of the owner's adoption of an aging hippy's approach to life; in his mind, it's the path of least resistance. His definition of a hippy is someone who lets his house become run-down because upkeep isn't something he's concerned with. For him, a hippy doesn't mind when living quarters become a pig sty or that his clothes smell from a lack of washing. And for him, a hippy never explains his actions. On the few occasions when I would criticize his behavior, he would snap and start yelling — a defensive posture that he employs to get people to back off.
Unfortunately, those are not the traits of a hippy but of a child.
So I'm not surprised that there's been no further correspondence to follow-up on his initial offer to help with my moving costs. That would be to adult for him. He can make a grand gesture but then not follow through on it, instead coming up with an excuse to explain his lack of follow-through. I'm sure that, if confronted with his offer, the owner would say something along the lines of "Well, you haven't talked to me since the email, so I figured you didn't need any help." Neat bit of rationalization, but totally self-serving. It's true that I've not spoken to him since the email, but that doesn't absolve him of his offer. Not in my book, anyway. And he's so good at sending e-mails, as I well know. He could easily write to ask "how much," but that won't happen.
So I'm still angry, but not quite as intensely angry. I once panicked at the thought that I would never have enough time to pack up 30 years of accumulated items, but now I just don't care. I will take what I can and leave anything behind for a hauling company (he's already hired one to clear out most of his junk, though they need to come back to clear the garage). I've been told by more than one person that I should "trash" the place when I leave (even by my own dad!), but that's not in my DNA. I won't be cleaning my space as I would in a regular arrangement, but even the space I have will have to be intensely gutted since there'd been no upkeep on it at all before I moved in. And once I leave, that will be the end of it. Permanently.
Now for Another Hot Guy.