This morning, I drove with Paul to The Dalles for an interview at a private school. I probably should have stayed home and packed, but, on a whim, I decided to keep him company.

The interview didn’t take long.

We looked at a few rentals and drove back home. On the way, we stopped at a river and Paul swam while I took a nap.

Driving to The Dalles brought back memories of starting this blog. I drove down this road when I interviewed for the web academy last year. The scrub oaks, the locust and Russian olive trees filled the crevices in the brown hills where the water runs. De ja vu. I had come full circle. A year ago, I was heading to an interview, and on the way back, I stopped and wrote a blog post about it.

It felt like the beginning of something.

Instead, it was the beginning of the end of something. A year ago, we began the long sojourn of losing the house.

Sometimes, I wonder, will this year be different? Will we gain something this time?

We’re in the exact same situation as last year — minus a home. We’ve paid off a few debts. That’s it.

We’re going on two and half years of unemployment. Somehow, we’re still eating. I guess Paul and I have gotten work, just none of it steady. He subs; I tutor. He turns in an illustration, I write an article. He travels to the valley for construction work. I tutor and sub. He commercial fishes. I tutor and write.

Still, we haven’t traveled.

Paul calls it the reset button. We talk about traveling and get all excited and then, the next day, it’s like we never had the conversation. We’ve settled back into … we got to get a job.

It’s getting closer to the move out date. We don’t know where we’re going. I guess we’re waiting to hear from somewhere that Paul has applied.

Hood River never called. Paul had eight years experience working with alternative education kids. His would-be supervisor had four.

Such are the days. I know Paul is not the only one to be passed over by someone with less experience.

We’re moving in six days. We don’t know where.

I remember driving through Wyoming to Colorado. For miles and miles and miles and miles there was nothing but these little shacks every so often that all looked the same. Sometimes, after a few hours of driving, I would wonder if I was locked in a time warp and I would never escape. I was on a loop and couldn’t recognize that I wasn’t going anywhere, ever.

Are we in a time warp? Are we actually getting somewhere?

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