Some say there's a woman to blame... in Open Diary type posts

Cue up Jimmy Buffet. It's been an incredibly busy eight months, since the beginning of December, when I made up my mind to leave Portland, Oregon, where I had been living for some 26 years, and to return to the state I was born in, California. It had been 32 yeas since I left. It all began, really, in the summer of 2013. An old High School friend got a hold of me through Facebook, and I drove down to see him in Crescent City, California, an 8 hour drive from Portland. Making that story shorter, for the moment, he introduced me to several people, and was friendly and offered me a job, living there and caring for his aged aunt, on my third visit down there. By that time had discovered that one of the people he introduced me to was The One. The One I had been waiting for since 1995, when I had divorced my wife. She was a special person, and when it stopped working, I thought I'd be unlikely to meet anyone else like that; The One for a period of my life. I had found The One for an earlier part of my life, but had al but given up in the years since 1995; I was getting ready to settle and hook up with a woman I knew, a woman who needed someone to look after her. A drunk headed down a dark road. It wouldn't have been "good" but it would have been a relationship of a kind, and at 52, didn't feel like being "alone". I didn't have to go that way. I didn't really want to. The woman I met in Crescent City is my age. She said, while on a date, walking the seashore, the right words, that she was looking for a partner. We talked and found we had a lot in common, and although we avoided the "L" word for a while, it wasn't long before we confessed our feelings to each other. I didn't have a lot in Portland any more; my best friend was moving back east and the future looked bleak and cheerless. I decided to take up that offer, to move to Crescent City to be near this woman and to put together a life with her. The "friend" who introduced us wasn't. A friend. He fired me from that live-in position 10 days after I took it, 336 miles from the home I had lived in for 15 years. It seems he was upset that we had hooked up. She worked for him and his aunt too, on weekends, and she felt sorry for me, at how I had been taken advantage of because of the brain injury in 1998, that had made me into a nice guy, one easily deceived by so-called friends. I don't know what his problem was, but mine was that I was now homeless, far from "home" and my few friends. We moved in together, in a place that my "friend" owned. We came to suspect it was bugged, that he was listening to our conversations. He announced at the end of February that he no longer needed her services, which had been given in exchange for rent, and that since he didn't need he any longer, that the rent was now $800. She said, "I don't have that much". He said "that's the rent. Take it or leave." With a week's notice, we packed up to leave Crescent City. Meeting her, I had found that I qualified for Veteran's services for my time in the Navy in the early 80's. Which was a very good thing, it turns out, a very good thing indeed. I gave myself a hernia, moving, part of my intestines pushing out through a weak spot in the muscle that held them in place. A hernia of the kind I had in no joke; surgery is required ASAP. For my birthday in March, I had an operation. A successful operation with no complications, one that I recovered from in my usual quick fashion. Which was good, in a way; we were Homeless now, and I was broke. Spring began bleakly and with low hopes.