So I moved

Well, that happened, and it happened very fast.  From finding out my neighbors were cheerfully poisoning me for years to casually going to an open house to finding out about a thing called a bridge loan that could allow me to get a new place and move there and then sell my old place when it was not full of stuff and thus might sell for enough to not wipe out all of my emergency savings, it was not a long time.  

And I still had heard NOTHING from the management company of my home owners' association.  It seemed clear to me that like most times before, they were not going to protect my health or enforce their own rules or the laws of Vadnais Heights or the State of Minnesota.  

So I went forward.  The 5th house was the charm.  Made a full price offer less than 24 hours after seeing it.  Accepted less than 48 hours after that.  Cleared the inspection contingency.  Was locked in.  Told my neighbors.  (Had to print out a version to tape on the drug neighbors' door, since he blocked me after admitting they were playing the game to win by claiming the half-outdoor cats were his Emotional Support Animals.)

And that night, drug neighbor's wife came to tell me they were moving out.  

I had a moment of incandescent rage.  I was moving to a house I couldn't afford and paying on two houses and 3 loans simultaneously to escape them, and they were already leaving.  For real this time.  Not like in 2019 when they said they were moving.  Or 2020.  Or August.  Or September.  Or "this winter."  Soon.  That month.  October.  And I knew nothing about any of it because the terrible management company for my HOA does not know how to do basic communication.  Not even, "Thank you for letting us know; we're looking into it."  Just . . . nothing.  And hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt it was too late to back out on.

Drug neighbor's wife seemed confused and hurt, as they always do when they get called out for violating the HOA rules they signed onto when they moved here.  They have truly never seemed to understand that when you share a building, an entrance, and entryway, HVAC venting, a small community, the things you do affect that community.  And she confirmed that by saying, "I just don't understand why they [the HOA] think they can tell us what we can and cannot do in a home we own."  

And I didn't have the energy to try to explain what community means.  What it means that your actions impact your neighbors.  That there are things you can do to make that impact positive, and poisoning the air is not one of them.  That lying about your animals in a pet-free building when you know your neighbors have allergies is not one of them.  That her dad signed on to those rules when he bought that condo for her and let her live there rent free for 10 years with her daughter, even when the abusive boyfriend her dad was trying to rescue her from followed her there and immediately started breaking rules and laws and making me miserable.

I wanted to tell her that she is not even the actual homeowner, that she owns nothing.  That I do and they chased me out of the home I did own because they couldn't follow basic living in community rules.  That I didn't have someone paying for my housing for 10 years while I wrecked the place so bad he had to pay tens of thousands of dollars to gut the place and make it saleable once they left.  That I had just spent all the money I saved for the bathroom renovation of my dreams because I thought I was going to live there 15 more years, and I had to leave because they were threatening my health, livelihood, and life with their rule breaking.  That I COULD NOT afford what they were forcing me to, but I was doing it anyway because I thought I had no choice, and the HOA could have let the people who move in after them do the exact same thing to me.

I said I hoped they would find a place that would better meet their needs, and she said they had a place where they paid a pet fee for her cats and it was a standalone house with no close neighbors, and that sounds right for their needs.

And me?  I have a place on the ground floor, so my mom doesn't have to worry about me falling down the stairs (again) or my dad falling down the stairs when he visits next time.  I have a little more space and a bit more light.  I have quiet.  I have no shared entrance or HVAC venting.  There have not been pets here.  I have to pay more than double for this, and it is further away from work and my church and my church small groups.  And I don't know if it is worth it, but it is done.  And if the old place sells fast, I will not even be paying the 3 loans simultaneously for very long.

So I sit here surrounded by boxes and chaos and too many things to do, and I am stressed and anxious about finances and overwhelmed and prone to overdoing it to the point of making myself sick.  And I am thankful for all the blessings that allowed this all to happen, that I am away, that I have escaped and can make a new place for myself here and maybe be less sick and swollen and allergic all the time, that maybe I can breathe here no matter who my neighbors are or may be in the future.  

I am also very tired.  I think I will take a nice, quiet nap and be thankful for rest.  And maybe try to write something more focused on the fun and adventure and joy of bringing order to chaos after a little rest.

Home 18: Library (last but certainly not least)

At least I don't have to sleep in the closet to have room for the library.  (I actually wouldn't have minded doing that, and it could still be a possibility if I try to adopt and end up with siblings.)  Anyway, the library has a terrible fake-wood floors that have seen many, many better days, walls of a bold (ugly) shade of yellow, and random kanji characters stenciled about in red and black.  The curtains are brown, and I moved a set of shades in to cut out light.  Speaking of light, there is some haphazard track lighting on one side of the room, so one blank wall is hazily illuminated. Since I had no money left over for paint, I'm glad that the general  hideousity of the room is mostly hidden because the library has, unsurprisingly, an embarrassing  number of bookshelves packed nearly to the ceiling with books and some DVDs.  The maximum number of containers is already here, so this is the size my library cannot outgrow from this time forth.  Seriously.  Really, really.

This is where the anime and manga live, along with a few American comics.  There is a file cabinet and a glider rocking chair I bought from a man at a retirement home after his wife died and he couldn't bear to see it anymore.  (Don't ask me to tell my stupid story about washing the cushions when I got it.  I have learned and moved on.)  I've covered the rocking chair in a pretty sheet with pointless but pretty scrolling embroidery.  (It came that way; I didn't put it there.)

There is also a small closet.  I call it my Poetry Closet.  It is where my writing from my undergraduate and MFA program lives (including the two massive binders of my finished thesis, annotated with all the grammar and spelling corrections I've found throughout the years since I turned it in and my committee complimented me for it being 450 pages and still being so carefully proofread as to contain no errors, hahahahaha), along with most of my reference and class books from that time period.  It's also where the CDs live right now until they get a shelf of their own that is glassed in, so I can put it in the allergy-free zone of my bedroom.  The closet door is currently prevented from closing by all my journals from the time I started classes in 2003.  (I am currently on approximately #53.)

Once I finish with all the other unpacking and sorting and get things moved around (and find a cheap glider ottoman), this will be a favorite room, especially in the winter when the window seat will not be fit for occupation.  Until then, I'm so glad it's finally here!!!!

Home 17: The Study

It's taking shape slowly.  It's a dining room by design with an obnoxious  and somewhat ugly chandelier that a kind friend clamped out of the way so that nobody had to lose an eye.  This is where the oversized fiction (alpha by author) and much of the remaining nonfiction (sorted by topic / subject matter) live.  It's where my functional, cobbled-together standing desk is.  It is the future home of a window seat, if I can make that happen.  (Step 1: get gutter put on above window to prevent more window frame leprosy; Step 2: get leprous window and frame replaced; Step 3: figure out how to cobble together the perfect window seat on the cheap.)

There are some files in cabinets and boxes, which I shall eventually neatly conceal under the desk.   The window is covered with a large, double-folded sheet of white, tulle-like polyester (abandoned to me by a former roommate) that lets in a lovely diffuse light while giving privacy at night with no need to open or close anything, including the window, which is missing the screen due to the window leprosy mentioned above.

I am trying to make it its own separate and calm-feeling space (for me and to make friends who don't feel comfortable with clutter more comfortable).  There is a shoji screen blocking the backside of my MacGyver desk from the larger space and some little cubbies with doors hiding their contents.  There will be more screens that I will prop in front of the bookshelves to hide them from view when not needed.  The remaining floor space is big enough for an air mattress (or a pullout cough component to my magical imaginary window seat).  When it's done, it will be black and white and full of diffuse light supplemented by the high-chandelier light.

There is a cutout from the kitchen.  I'm not sure if I will set up some see-through curtains or a half-height shoji screen in front of the kitchen opening to block out the pink and preserve the simple effect I'm going for.

I've kept the long diagonal lines of sight through the dining / living room open, so it makes the while place feel a bit bigger than it is.  It's functional but cluttered at the moment.  We'll call it good.

Home 16: Kitchen

It's pink.  Sigh.  I think it's slightly darker red pink than the intestinal brownish-pink of the bathroom.  The cabinets are a distressing shade of sort of creamy off-white.  My sister found it all rather ugly.  I cannot deny this, but I reveled in having more space then the 3x5 area in my old place.  There's a bit more counter and cabinet space and a lot more light.  There is a cutout facing the window in the study, so it gets some light from there during the day.  It has a backsplash that was the only DIY non-disaster, as far as I can tell.  I will one day (hopefully soon) paint the pink some sort of lovely blue that will somehow match the backsplash.

For now, I enjoy having a dishwasher, a non-leaking faucet, a fridge with a real freezer (even though I can't seem to get the fridge above 20 degrees), and a stove that still technically works despite missing the handle to open and close it and being a bit off in terms of temperature.  The toaster oven is my new best friend and covers a multitude of oven sins.

Overall, I might wish it had a fan that actually vented outside instead of into my face and more space or just not the fake dropped ceiling, so I could store some stuff up there above the cabinets instead and leave more space open on the counters.  If I get that whacked out, I'll have less to paint, too, but I'm sure that's costly and dusty, so I don't know if I should plan on it ever happening.  It's good to be able to use a kitchen again, and I'm already eating healthier as a result.

Home 15: Living Room

It has an oddly shaped, sloped ceiling that gives it a feeling of being bigger than it is but slightly crooked.  It is painted a bright and glorious white to try to boost the indirect light coming only from the north.  There are tall, white curtains covering the doors to the deck.  There is a dark blue yukata from my sister on the wall that leads to the hallway.  My painting (given to be by a former roommate) is in the random nook.  Around the nook are Christmas pictures from friends and family.  (The nook will be even nicer when I am able to clean off the clutter.)

There's a sofa cast off from a retirement home, a discarded Best Buy break room couch, my lovely rocking recliner (given to me by friends), an ancient television on a cheap, rickety stand, and the mass market paperback fiction.  Furniture is covered in black, blue, or green covers and blankets and pillows in blacks, blues, and greens (and a bit of white).  There's a matching rummage sale coffee table and end table with an ancient rummage sale lamp.  There are two Borders Café rescue chairs  beneath a small pull-out table attached to the wall nearest the kitchen with a beautiful deep geen haori (traditional Japanese kimono jacket) displayed high above it (also a gift).  There is also a huge, ugly Schwinn Airdyne (see part 5), a cheap, foldable stair climber, and a balance ball, but pretend those are invisible.

And there is the accent wall.  Oh, the accent wall.  I knew I would be painting the dark walls (russet red, mustard, and dark gray when I moved in) white to amplify the limited and indirect light, so I wanted one wall that was a color that I found lovely.  I looked at a lot of paint chips, laughed at a lot of paint color names, and eventually chose a beautiful rich green with some blue in it.  My sister painted it when she came to help prep for moving in.  Her text to me after a long day explains why my text message box is always nearly full (I keep the funny ones): "long story short I might burn down your condo to hide my paint job accent wall disaster. redid many times. 1/2 still looks odd but not enough energy to care."

Home 14: Deck

There's a tree!  It's a deck!  It's big enough to put a hammock, trip on said hammock, and fall without smashing my face into any bars!  It gets very little direct sunlight and is aging, but at certain times, I can lie in the sun on it.  I will try to do that even more next year (while wearing proper sun protection mostly) to pursue my sun camel merit badge.  I might also have to rig up something to let the diagonal neighbors know when I'm up there, as my ninja powers seem to accidentally conceal me, leading to several very awkward overheard conversations that left me trapped on the deck in desperate need of a bathroom break but unwilling to announce that I'd been there all along while they talked about things they wouldn't have talked about had they known I was there.  I hope.  I mean, maybe they would have.  But I wouldn't have.

There are also dragonflies.

And then there was that time with the spider who built an invisible-in-the-indirect-light web across half the door only to end up with both of us scared half out of our wits after one of us blundered through it one summer morning, leaving me terrified of going out without first waving a sock-covered broom for weeks.

In conclusion: hammock, sunlight, dragonflies, WIN.

Home 13: The full bathroom

Maybe I should I have made the linen closet of doom #13, but I'm not thinking at my most clear.  Bathrooms can be scary, right?  We'll go with that.  Bathrooms redecorated by D-I-Y demons can be especially wacky.  From the weird sticky-caulk-y residue left behind after a failed attempt to attach a self-adhesive border to the shower seams to the missing baseboards to the too-tall-to-allow-things-to-be-plugged-into-both-outlets and not-quite-level, newish sink cabinet with the odd extra spaces around it and the not-completely-openable secret drawer at the bottom to the brownish-pink walls (this is what it looks like from the inside of your intestines) to the pinkish vinyl square floor badly laid over a somewhat disgusting tile floor to the inexplicably not-white floating cabinet with the poorly attached doors I can't use to the ugly fixturing (why would you want gold, silver, and bronze on everything anyway), this bathroom is, um, well, it's functional despite all the DIY disasters.  There is a heating vent, a bathtub that is old but not nearly as terrible as the one at my last place, and a fan that seems close to its last legs but does not moan like lost souls.  (See Part 7.)

Some day, I want it to be a clean blue-based and calming place.  If I can figure out a way to obtain a freestanding, claw foot tub to cram in there, that would be lovely.  Not sure if I want black or white fixtures of plastic to avoid rust and mold or something bronze like elsewhere.  I'd like the lights to be dimmable.  It will look like a whole new world not at all resembling the interior of the human body.  Some day.  Probably a long time from now, what with all the other actually necessary repairs.

At least the toilet is one of those ancient beasts that will flush anything down, not these new, delicate ones you can't trust if they are having a bad day.  And this one is attached to the floor.

Home 12: The Linen Closet of Doom

When last we left my linen closet, things were grim.    "August 4, 2014 · Anyone have good suggestions on how to clean out a linen closet that reeks of something that is not a dead animal in the attic, mold, or mildew? The plumber suggested painting it. My sister suggested gallons of bleach, pounds of baking soda, a young priest, an old priest, a crucifix, and some holy water. Your suggestion?"

Many good suggestions poured in when I turned to Facebook for help with what my visiting sister had dubbed the stankwood (TM) closet.  I tried the bleach and baking soda to no real effect until I realized the wood of the shelves themselves had absorbed the stench and were a total loss.  I got help to move them to the garage, which then stank abominably and confirmed our suspicions.  There was more baking soda and bleach and then a lot of Killz possibly followed by more white paint.  (Extra thanks to the friend who ended up wearing the white paint.)

The finishing touch was some unfinished cedar shelves (finding them and getting them cut correctly was an adventure in itself that I won't bore you with).  I reasoned that I would rather shell out more than I could afford and get the occasional splinter and have my clothing, towels, and sheets smell of the gerbils / guinea pigs of my hazy, best friend's pet container's cedar-shaving memories than risk the return of stankwood (TM).

So far, so good.

As an additional bonus, cedar planking either doesn't smell as strongly as cedar shavings, or my sense of smell is worse from my allergies and the 7 times I've broken my nose since that time in my childhood.  (Translation: apologies to anyone if it smells more cedar-y than I am leading you to believe.)



Some of my favorite suggested remedies from when I consulted Facebook are below.

• Is the offending odor stuck in the floor, wall, etc? I've seen hazmat clean up on TV & they have rip things up to get rid of the stank.
• There is a product called Kilz that helps with smell. I will ask a painter friend of mine, and try to get more info. Good luck, and if all else fails, you could become the quirky lady who cures meats in her closet. Charcuterie couldn't smell worse than what you've described! smile emoticon
• your sister - wise beyond her yrs.: D
• THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!
• Save thousands on cedar lined cabinets and closets by storing some cedar shavings (pet or hardware store) to a cloth bag. Repels moths. Gel desiccant, the same packets found with new leather garments, keeps ambient moisture down to kill mold habitat. Activated charcoal works like baking soda because it is the most porous substance known, and traps odors (and all visible light). In a pinch, can be used to absorb toxins from some accidental poisonings. Just thought I'd share all that!

Home 11: The Hallway

It's been a while  since I've lived in a place big enough to have a hallway.  If I were still young, no doubt I would appreciate being able to climb the walls (my favorite thing about hallways when I was a kid).  The seller did some serious damage to it when moving out, so there are some weird dents and gouges that weren't there during the inspection, but it's been repainted a nice clean white to try desperately to make it a little brighter than the cave-like dark grey I think it was before.  For some reason, the hall light, which appears sized for two bulbs to make it nice and bright can only hold one, so it's still pretty dark.

My current favorite thing about the hall is that two different light switches operate that light.  You can turn it on from a switch by the bedrooms or one by the front door.  I don't know why this is so exciting to me, but I was really pleased about it.  Too bad we don't have any idea what that third light switch is supposed to do . . .

Last but not least, the hallway contains the closet formerly known as the Stankwood Closet ™.  More on that in a bit.

Home 10: Guest Bedroom

The title is a bit ambitions.  Right now it's where the odds and ends that have yet to be unpacked and the books that have yet to be sold or donated are squatting.  It has makeshift curtains (required by the Association rules) and some furniture.  I've cleared enough room that the air mattress can fit, and I have sheets and a blanket for it, so I'm ready for visitors.  Some day, I'd like to finish cleaning it up, move everything out, and maybe adopt a teenager (they have the hardest time getting placed in homes when they are up for adoption, and a sadly surprising number of them want a home with just a mom and not a dad).  I can't really do that until my health is better, so I'll be working on that in the coming years, too,  as I try to clean the room up more to make it ready for someone who needs it to add his or her own personality to it.

Home 9: Bedroom closet

Technically, I had a walk-in closet at my last apartment.  You could take at least one step in there, so I suppose it was technically a walk-in.  Sturdy and well-constructed it was not.  The cheap, do-it-yourself quality shelving and hanging rods collapsed more than once.  A walk-in closet was not really a requirement for me when I was house hunting (except when I was looking at 2-bedroom places and thinking I would sleep in the closet instead of wasting a whole room I couldn't put anything in due to allergies [see part 8]).

The "master bedroom walk-in" closet here did not inspire me.  It had all these shelves and things in it that made it too narrow to put any kind of bed, so I was going to have to actually use it for clothes.  The shelving units were somewhat poorly installed with gaps and overlapping bits and wire baskets that kept falling off in ways that made me nervous.  But it was deep, and it had more than adequate space for my clothes.  After one of my friends managed to fix the improperly overlapped bits with only the sacrifice of one ancient Borders-rescue butter knife, I even thought it might have some structural integrity if I didn't challenge it too much.

And nothing (except that wire basket) has collapsed.  Yet.  Win!

There's still some work to do figuring out where to put things currently squatting in the guest bedroom, and I anticipate some donations once everything is in the same place, and I can sort through it all at once ruthlessly.  You know, eventually, when I finally get all the unpacking done.  Maybe by next June in time for the 2nd anniversary?

Home Anniversary 8: the boring bedroom

The bedroom is boring.  It has to be because I am allergic to all the things.  I was told my allergies would improve if I could keep the bedroom free of books and dust.  The walls are free of all decorations other than a profusion of ugly nail holes (couldn't afford to also paint it after all the other allergy-proofing).  No furniture, no books, no carpet.

In theory, you sleep better if your room is an empty cave, cool and dark, non-distracting, so there are blackout curtains that don't do a great job, not only because of the cheap-unsafe-apartment-dryer-melting injuries they sustained, but also because I don't have the heart to tape them down on all sides.  It's still pretty cave-like, though, because one of the DIY Demons of Doom who previously inhabited this house added an okay-looking but totally non-functional ceiling light (it's wired for a fan, so it doesn't work with just a light), so I have an ancient, 40-watt desk lamp in one corner doing room-lighting/dimming duties.  It shines up onto the random plant hook on the ceiling where I have placed a single wonderfully gaudy Christmas ornament.

I don't even have a comforter or quilt because it's hard to wash those as often as the allergists recommend.  All totally boring, as it should be for improved health.  But my sheets are a beautiful color between turquoise and jade because there should be something beautiful in every room.  Even the dark ones you can't really see into.  Extra credit if the beauty is machine washable or hypoallergenic.

Home 7: special bathroom fan edition

Of course the bathroom fan began making horrifying noises very soon.  I did some research to see if it would be cheaper to pay for it to get replaced than to use the Home Warranty Company of Doom (another cursed gift brought to me by my scummy seller).  I am still giggling because never have I seen the word noxious so frequently in such a short time.  The thing that confuses me is why it is so important for people to have fans that are quiet.  Is this a rich people thing?  Have a fan so quiet no one knows you have a fan but everyone knows when you might like a louder fan?  I mean, pardon my crudeness, but isn't at least part of the point of a bathroom fan sort of like the point of those fancy Japanese toilets that have sounds you can turn on at particular times when you want to cover other sounds?  I'm just wondering.  Anyway, they replaced the fan that sounded like souls being dragged to torment in hell with one that was louder but induced fewer nightmares, and that was the only home warranty call that did not suck out part of my soul and add years to my life.  Huzzah.

Home Anniversary 6: The Master Bath closet

I'm going to move around to the back of the house now because, frankly, I want to get it out of the way.  "The Master Bath" sounds all elegant and posh, but it's the size of a closet.  (Actually, that's a lie because the closet next to it is bigger.)  It has a tiny shower, a trendy pedestal sink, and a toilet with one of those fun slow-mo-close lids.

One of the first things I got fixed was the toilet, which was not actually attached to the floor.  My inspector and I considered this a problem, but the seller didn't seem to.  My sister and I got a huge kick out of the fact that the plumber just put the toilet on the bedroom floor while he did plumber things to get it reattached.  We took pictures because it's kind of hilarious.

There was also no storage space in the mirror; it was a fake.  As a result, there is basically no storage space to make the whole bathroom actually functional except under the ridiculous sink.

The sink is one of those big glass bowls that is maybe still a thing in bathroom design, and I was initially not a fan.  I am still not a fan of its functionalness, but there is one thing that makes me very happy about it.  When I am stumbling around clumsily as usual, and I whack or knock something into the sink, it rings out this pure, clear sound like a prayer bell.  It's beautiful.  And frequent.  Who knew clumsiness could make beauty along with bruises and broken bottles?

Home Anniversary 5: In Praise of the Schwinn Airdyne

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

• You are right smack dab in the way in the living room.  This means I can't possibly avert my eyes and pretend I can't see you.  You are between me and all the comfortable lazing surfaces, challenging me.
• You do not make my knees hurt.  This means I can't use that as an excuse.
• You provide me with a cooling breeze that keeps me from getting sweaty and gross as I exercise.  Another excuse off the list.  You also help keep dust from settling on surfaces in your airpath.  Another plus..
• You come with a magazine rack.  I don't have to hold my book or device (which causes pain and is another excuse you take out).
• You generate a good amount of white noise.  It's soothing and covers up the sound of slamming doors and the barking of the new neighbor's illegal adorable dog (no pets allowed in our condos).
• When my arms are not causing agony, I can exercise them, too!  Yay!  And I don't have to flail them around and risk losing my balance like I did on my cheap-o stair-climber of doom.
• You are a thing that lasts.  You were made to last decades ago and were passed down three successive generations before making your ugly way to me.  You are an heirloom among fitness equipment.  I hope this means you were a good investment, especially at the low price I paid for you.

There are other reasons, but it's time for bed.  In case you weren't sure, I highly recommend a good, used Schwinn Airdyne if you are looking for a way to exercise more regularly.  It helps to put it in your living room, if you can.

Home 4: the entryway

The entryway is not my favorite place in the house.  It's dark and narrow, and the door is blocked from opening all the way, so it's really cramped for guests.  What's good about it is that I put pretty (and machine washable) turquoise rugs in it and that when you open the door, you can see the accent wall, which is painted a color that makes my heart sing.  It's a great first sight after a long day.

home anniversary part 3: the front door

I have to admit: the front door has seen better days.  Probably about 26 years worth of them.  It is scarred and scuffed and scratched.  It isn't even a real front door (since it leads to an interior), so there's a bad draft in the winter that I will take care of when I get a lovely, new, half-glass door if I'm allowed to by the condo association.  That said, it is definitely sturdier than the last two flimsy apartment entry doors, so that's good.  Also, because it is  my door, I was allowed to actually put double locks in for added security.  My sister and brother-in-law bought me the lovely bronze doorknobs I put on my Christmas list, and some friends in the area were able to help me finally get them installed.  They look very nice.  They do not require horrible wrist contortions (and resulting pain) like the old door did.  Even though there are two locks to unlock, it still takes less time than the old single lock.  Since the light is burned out on our landing (has been since I first visited over a year ago), the dark bronze is almost invisible, like a ninja lurking in the shadows to keep me safe.

Okay, it's nothing like a ninja, but I think it's very nice.

part 1  |  part 2

The week before the layoff: Tuesday

I wonder if this is the last Tuesday I will take this route to work past the half-dead, half-alive tree and the marsh.  Will this be the last Tuesday I do work at this desk surrounded by this three-sided view of clouds watching this plant shiver as heavy machinery moves the floor?  Will this be the last Tuesday I go to this store and then that store and get gas at this gas station and then go home? 

I pray it will be the last Tuesday I ever have to do research on hip surgery (while contemplating potential job and insurance loss). 

Will tomorrow be the day that everything falls apart for me like it did for my cube-neighbor today?  He was one of our managers, an irreplaceable expert.  But they did tell us that this lay-off had nothing to do with how good we are.  It is a thing of cold, hard numbers, HR and finance, not our bosses or those who work with us and give us performance bonuses. 

Now I wish again that I had maintained my goal of only achieving expectations.  Who knew that exceeding them would have the consequence of making me more attractive to a cut based on numbers?

on being a scary book lady

"It's like you're a scary cat lady . . . only with books." - a friend

There are a lot of reasons I hate moving, but one of the worst is book damage anxiety.  I pack them with love and care in precise and scientific ways to lower the chance of damage, but the fact is that after carrying 25 boxes up two flights of stairs, people helping me move cannot realistically be expected to treat my book boxes with the gentleness I would like.   I cannot blame them; they are saints to be helping in the first place.

It also rained during a part of the move, and by "rained," I mean "something sometimes akin to a monsoon."  Two boxes were casualties of this water; neither of them contained books.  Go ahead and breathe that sigh of relief with me. 

One bookcase did die, but it has been propped up sufficiently to be able to shuffle along as a zombie until the next move when it will surely perish.  May it rest in peace for the years that elapse before that next move . . .

I unpack the book boxes first because they take up the most space but also because I don't want them to be crammed and cramped for any longer than they have to be.  I unpack with fear and trembling, mourning each bent corner and new scrape, the same sorts of injuries I myself end up getting in the course of a move.  At least books don't bleed as much as I do.

I love touching all my books again.  I'm the kind of person who loves shelving and alphabetizing books, getting (re)acquainted, especially this time since I was separated from 75% of them for almost a year due to allergies. 

It's not like I never visited them; the visits were just hurried and infrequent because my mom didn't think I should be at my offsite library storage site alone since I live in the Big City.  The separation anxiety wasn't terrible all the time, but sometimes, I would really wish I could run my fingers over the spines and curl up with a certain something that was temporarily out of my grasp.  On occasion, it was maddening. 

Now we are all together again.  Or we will be when those extra shelves and pegs arrive, and I can unpack the last of the caged nonfiction and poetry . . .

Looking forward to that glorious day,
TMIA

Four seasons of home

Do you suppose you have to love all four seasons in another country before you can really say you want to make it your home?