I sat in the parking lot of the Dollar General store. The duck was quietly making noise, confused as to why he was in a box no doubt. I was waiting there with him to meet his new owners.
Mr. Duck hit the duck lottery and found a fabulous farm where he will have more friends than Mark Zuckerberg has on Facebook. As much as I wanted to keep him, I just can't because as of Friday, unlike Mr. Duck, I'll be homeless. At his new home full of runner ducks, I know he'll live happily ever after.
Change is inevitable. I get that. Some of the barn babies at work come from other farms and go back once they've grown up. All of us that work there like to think they will all live happily ever after, too. It is easier that way. We envision a future for them grazing in tall grass under a shade tree while white puffy clouds dot the sky.
I've always been a visual goal setter myself. The path has always been so clear to me, I've always been able to picture my own future. But I don't see any puffy clouds in mine. In fact, for the first time in my life I don't see anything at all. I'm not sure how to process that. As of this moment I have to close on this house on Friday morning. I have no idea where I will sleep Friday night and, oddly, at this point I no longer care.
To say that the home selling and buying process has not gone well would be the understatement of the century. I feel like I am Milton of the movie Office Space. Not one person is listing to a word I say. I have no recourse other than to just walk away. Or burn the building down, like Milton did.