His instinct must have been what woke him from his deep slumber. After the ritual the other night, he and Garibaldi had sat together at the massive table that had been brought out to the meadow for the event, and stuffed themselves full with tender and delicious victuals until they leaned back in their chairs, half-asleep with satisfaction. They groaned and rubbed their bellies, when Daddy-O suddenly realized he hadn't noticed Noel around since before the ritual, when he'd told him to go away in no uncertain terms. With a great yawn and a stretch, he changed the angle of his head just enough to sniff the aromas surrounding the table and the meadow without having to move his bloated body, and didn't sense Noel anywhere. "Hey...hey Gar...you seen Noel in a while?"
"Hmm..?" Garibaldi had barely responded, "Noel? Mmm...no. Not since I left you sitting on that stump before things began to pop off. He's probably passed out in a bush somewhere, dreaming about 'getting some' from that nymph." He chuckled to himself and smiled, "Idiot. I hope she doesn't kill him...or maybe I hope she does. At least that way I get my den back sooner than later. Speaking of which, I'm about done in, you want to call it a night? I'm happy to walk you back to your place."
"Yeah? That would be cool, thanks. I'm falling asleep right here, and I wouldn't mind getting back home before I pass out completely." While Daddy-O staggered to his feet, Garibaldi dozed off and fell out of his chair, which woke him instantly, and he sprang quickly to his feet, blinked his eyes, and turned in a circle to sniff at the breeze, discerning whether or not there was any threat in the air. Daddy-O smiled and shook his head when he heard the soft thud of Garibaldi's body hitting the ground, and the subsequent rustling that accompanied his quick recovery and reconnaissance. "You too, huh? Well, let's blow this taco stand while we're still both somewhat awake, and able to make it back to my place without going too far astray."
Shaking his head to clear it, Garibaldi yawned, "Aight, let's do it, my man." Making their way out of the meadow, they shook hands/hooves/tentacles, gave and received hugs, and called out their thanks and good-byes to the many who still lay littered on the ground, on the table, and up in trees. Garibaldi led his friend safely home, and sauntered off sleepily back to his own den, which was still several miles away. Daddy-O had stumped over to his comfy loveseat, and gone face-down without even removing his tattered clothing, which had certainly seen better days - like yesterday, when he'd put them on before the whole Bacchanalian had yet to go down. Sleep came instantly, and deeply.
But now, there was something awry, and his senses alerted him to the danger through his slumber. It felt like a pricking on his skin, and he knew better than to move, and let whatever may be intruding into his space know that he sensed its presence. His heart thumping in his chest, he listened intently to the small cracks he was hearing, coming from somewhere over by the laundry hamper. What could it be? Sniffing the air slowly so his nostrils wouldn't flare noticeably (in case whatever-it-was was watching him for signs of wakefulness) he tried to make sense of what his adrenaline-flooded synapses were telling him. That Noel was sitting on his floor, over by the crevice that served as his closet, cracking and eating walnuts. What the hell..? How should he address this trespass, and blatant disregard for his privacy? He didn't much care for Noel, in general, but he could sympathize with his situation...somewhat. This, though...this was beyond what he was willing to accept.
Daddy-O decided to meet the challenge head-on. "What the fuck are you doing in my den, Noel," he intoned gravely without moving; no hint of welcome in his voice, no sign of friendship.
"You know I didn't like, mean anything by it, like, it's not breaking and entering or anything. Just needed a place to...you know...to...like, have a little snack, that's all. Yeah, just stopped in for like, a snack. Want a walnut? Just like, tilt your head back a bit, and I'll, like, toss one in your mouth."
Sighing heavily, Daddy-O hauled himself upright and stretched sleepily. Walnuts were a rare commodity in the forest, and as much as the thought of one set his mouth to watering, his desire for the dry, soft nut-meat was less than his desire for removing Noel from his presence as quickly as possible. "You are cruising for a bruising, Noel...I swear I'm fixing to leap across this room, and tear you to pieces for my breakfast."
"...Cruising for a bruising," Noel guffawed. "That's so, like, 1950's of you, like, the spirit of the sock hop is alive and well, and, like, living in a cave in the forest!" Laughing at his own joke, Noel stood up to stretch his legs. As he shook them out, he continued, "Like, why do you even, like, dress like that? And, like, talk like that? And...and...hey, what are you doing? Hey! Ow!" Daddy-O had raised himself up off the loveseat, rolled his shoulders and his neck, then sprang across the space between them, and pinned Noel to the wall of the cave, pressing hard on his windpipe with his forearm.
"I thought I told you yesterday...leave me alone. I don't like you, I don't want you in my den, we're not friends, and your presence is a nuisance to just about everyone I know. So - if you get out of here the second I let you go, I promise I won't kill you...today. Tomorrow? Well...we'll just have to see about that, now, won't we?" Noel was struggling and gurgling under the pressure of Daddy-O's muscular arm, his face turning colors the blind werewolf couldn't see. Managing at last to croak out some form of positive affirmation, he ran for the entrance the moment Daddy-O chose to release him, coughing and choking as he stumbled out into the forest, snot running from his nose, tears streaming from his eyes, shit staining his pants. Smiling to himself, Daddy-O picked up the remaining walnuts he could feel strewn about the floor, cracked one in his fist, and enjoyed the delightful treat that had made an unexpected appearance in his day.
"That settles that," he said with finality, as he made his way back to his beloved loveseat, grabbed the hand-knitted afghan slung across its back, and curled himself into a ball beneath its warmth to enjoy another few hours of blessed rest.
for this week's whirl, I decided to continue the story I began last week. hope you enjoyed it! follow along at:
I popped into ABC Wednesday to see what was up over there, and it turns out, they're shutting down soon, so I'm glad I checked. Right at the beginning of the alphabet, too. So I'm gonna jump in this round, and think of something that begins with A...
A is for Alpha, agrimony, aluminum. Arsenic, antimony, agriculture, aardvark. A is for artist, art, and arterial...airplane, aeronaut, and ardor. Alaska, Agartha, asparagus, Agrippa...Aesop, aged, apparent, aster. A is for Aleph. 'A' my name is Annie...A is for Apple. A is the beginning, the first point following the subject in an outline. A is for Angel. A is amusing, aggravating, and apocalyptic.
A is annoying. It's not A's fault I've got nothing. I even looked back through my blog to see what I did for A last time I played, and you know what? I never did one! I seem to have popped in at I and dropped out at W. Weird. So I'm not sure what to go for, here. Roger did Alpha-Bits...should I write a poem? Post a picture? Define a word? I was looking for something new to inspire me this morning, so maybe I'll google A and see what comes up...
The first thing to come up (after the ads) was the Wikipedia for the letter A. Under images, a big black blocky A. That's not inspirational. I need more...a YouTube search (for A) brings up 'Spider bursts out of a banana', followed by an aluminum cast of a fire ant colony. So random...where to, now? Handmade books were on my mind this morning, and there's a fresh set of folios folded on the table right next to me, ready to be glued. But 'books' would be B...is there an A book? A books...AbeBooks! Look what a lovely welcome they had for me!
I discovered AbeBooks while I was working on my thesis, so let's call that no less than 5 years ago. They had some rare selections at interesting price ranges, really nifty stuff. Let's see if they have any of that now: well, there's a 'weird book' room, which is sort of interesting, but not what I was going for...ah! Found it! Here there are books bound in cowhide, ivory and calfskin, silver/gilt/velvet/rubies, embroidered silk, inlaid wood, snakeskin, mulberry bark, and other mediums, some rather curious. Which led my ramblings to another A, Anthropodermic bibliopegy. Kind of gross, but go ahead and click the link if you don't mind gross things...I'll leave it up to you, but it did make me shudder, even though I think it's kind of cool, and puts me in mind of The Pillow Book, though in a much less romantic way!
Hey - check out this little book that's another kind of A - adorable! Well, that's all I've got. I'll think of something better for B, or maybe I'll just do some more books, who knows.
At the WitchesBall, the blindWerewolf found himself standing alone. He knew this would happen, but still, he had to shake off, brush himself down, and go out of his den to interact in social situations every now and again to keep himself sane, so here he was. He could smell that there were a variety of creatures at this gathering, including at least one other Werewolf, which made him slightly less nervous, though he couldn't quite tell who it was...maybe Noel, or Garibaldi. There were several humans, a few extra-terrestrials, brownies, sprites, nymphs, Greet, some satyrs and maybe a centaur (they could be hard to tell apart), and a couple of elves who were either married, or twins, he wasn't sure. And there was this other...thing. Or rather, it was more like a presence that didn't necessarily have an odor so much as something you noticed just after it passed by; a movement in space.
His ear twitched toward a sound at the edge of the circle as he sensed two Werewolves approaching on his right. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, and curled his shoulders slightly forward as he heard, "Hey ho, Daddy-O!" followed by the sweet aroma of fresh, raw, meat on Garibaldi's breath. Puffing up his chest, he bobbed in the center of his acquaintance's circling, and nodded his head when he caught on that Noel was present as well. "Hey guys, what's up?"
"Just chekin' out some new spells, you know, new spells, because I need to like, get that nymph over there to like me so I can, you know, like, get some...or whatever." Noel was so weird about females.
"Dude, what? What the hell are you talking about? You're a Werewolf. What the hell makes you think you could - 'a' do a spell, 'b' do one good enough to put over on a nymph, 'c' not get killed trying to do so by any number of female-respecting members of the forest community...and 'd' you're a moron! Cheesus, what I have to put up with you new guys...hey, shut up until I tell you you can speak again, Noel." Garibaldi shook his head, and put his arm carefully around his blind brother. "Listen, Daddy-O, how you doing, ok? You need anything out there in your den or anything? How's the hunting going?"
Nodding, he assured Garibaldi that all was well, "oh, yeah, it's good, you know? I've gotten much better with the traps, and I'm starting to spread out from my den a bit more, maybe a two and a half mile radius, now? I get a bit lonely, but my den's good - I really dig that loveseat you brought me, it's really comfortable for me in both forms, thanks."
"Hey, no problem! I told you, I take care of my friends, Daddy-O, I take care of my friends. You look good. Any pain, still? You need any more of that ointment from Jolene? Hey, she's right over there - hey Jolene! Come shout at my man, Daddy-O!" Daddy-O felt the weight of Garibaldi's arm lift from his shoulders before enduring several 'brotherly' slaps as Jolene was welcomed into their chat. "Jo-leeene, what's up, girl? You're looking fine as always, when are you going to let me come swim in your river, huh? How long we known each other, huh?"
"Not long enough, Garibaldi. And before you ask, if we know each other another hundred years, it still won't be!" Her laugh smelled as sweet as her skin, and Daddy-O had to smile as he felt her light touch on his wrist. "Hey, sweetie, how are you? It's nice to see you out." She leaned in and brushed his cheek with a kiss, and the scent of her made his mouth water. "How are the eyes, any pain? Do you need some more of my rush ointment? Lucky I always have some handy," she said, as she fished in her bodice for a small shell filled with her magical heal-all. "Hello, Noel, I didn't see you standing there. How are you this evening?"
"I'm not supposed to talk until Garibaldi says so, so...nothing."
"Oh, Noel...whatever. You don't have to do what he says, you know."
"Yeah, actually, he does. He's older than the Dad, over here, who as you know, just recently went blind, and still manages to take care of himself better than this one who hasn't moved out of my den, yet. He's cramping my style, you know? Cheesus, I need my life back, Jolene, what's a Werewolf to do without his privacy to brood in? It exhausts me, mothering him; he's on a deadline, and he needs to get straight before he gets himself hunted. You hear me, Noel? You're gonna get yourself hunted, my man, so get it together!"
"Oh, poo - you're too hard on him. Be nice! Listen, it looks like they're gonna start the circle, so I'll see you hairy bastards later. Dad, honey, save me dance, ok?"
"Oh, yeah, Jolene, no problem, thanks for the ointment," he called, as the intoxicating scent of her drifted across the meadow. He felt weak in the knees suddenly, like it had taken all his strength to hold himself up while she was in front of him, but now that she was gone, he was spent by the effort. "Hey, Garibaldi, can you find me a seat, I'm dizzy all of a sudden..."
"Yeah, no problem..." Garibaldi sighed as he watched Jolene walk away, then sprang to Daddy-O's side and gently led him to a stump. "That woman is a scorpion; she's got heartbreak written all over her."
"Oh...no, Garibaldi, she's not like that at all!"
"Yeah, what do you know? How long have you known her, 4 years? 5?"
"Well, yeah..."
"I've known her for that, plus a hundred, kid, ok?"
"I know, but..."
"Her kind play with men like they're dolls, Daddy-O. Their souls get branded when they face the trial of the resurrection. Ugly shit, I'm telling you. I know I flirt with her and tease her, but don't ever underestimate the power Jolene has to flay you inside out. You hear me, Noel? Inside out! It wouldn't surprise me at all if that ointment she gives you might not just restore your eyesight all together, my man, you know? All right," Garibaldi said in conclusion, "you hang tight here, I'll come back around to you eventually. After the ritual, we'll sit together, and I'll make you a plate!" He slapped Daddy-O's back one more time as he made his way through the crowd to greet some Greet.
"...but I'm not a man, am I?", he sighed to his acquaintance's non-presence.
"Yeah...who here do you think would sell me some spells, 'cause I like, really need to get a few, for you know, things. There's some things I'd like to do..."
"Noel - seriously. No one is going to give you a spell. And if you don't leave me alone, I'm going straight for your neck when the moon rises. Your blood would be a worthy enough sacrifice from me, so please don't put me in a position where I may be forced to kill you, ok?" There was no response, but he could tell by the shifts in the air around him that he had made his point, and enjoyed the swirling mixture of scents that filled in the welcome absence. Yes, this was going to be a good party; he was already glad he came.
open heart
splintered heart
escaping into the open
cracked open
splintered open
my heart crawls open
my heart collapses
collapses open
cracked open and splintered like bones
my bones escaping
escaping my heart
cracked open and splintered like grain
grain cracking crows
splintered by crows
escaping through my open heart
the clay quilted
across my heart
splintered by crows
the bones quilted
crawling across my open heart
splintered like clay
escaping the quilts that collapse my bones
in the splintered clay where
the crows crack grain
open like my heart
collapsing open like my splintered heart
crawling across my bones
this one felt like a chant to me, with a rhythm of its own. not sure if I caught it, but the repetition at least hints at the solemnity and power of the image these words laid out in my mind. do join in the fun at:
Blanche was drawing a complete and utter blank, in more ways than one. Some of her writer acquaintances were getting together for a 'virtual study hall', and while she wanted to join them, she felt she had nothing to offer. This ominous 'nothing to offer' was becoming an all too familiar theme in her advancing years - not that she was all that old - and as an idea, was one that could keep her laid flat out in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, enumerating her shortcomings to herself. Topping the list was the fact that she remained utterly and unhappily single, and saw no relief from her solitude anywhere even near the horizon, which led her spiraling through her harsh, personal, judgements conspiring to keep her prone on an otherwise beautiful day. She decided to run through the litany out loud, in a pathetically whiny sing-song voice (there wasn't anyone to hear, anyway) to make it sound as awful as it felt to her.
"I'm faaaaat," she whined. "I'm uuuuuglyyyyyy, " she continued. "I don't have any real friiieeeends," she moped. "No one loooooves me, and I'm never going to have seeeeex again," she complained. "I don't wriiiiiite, I don't draaaaaw, I don't creeeeaaaaate aaaanything anymooooore," she concluded. Heaving the deep sigh such negativity elicits, Blanche rolled onto her side and looked at her computer across the room on her desk, which stared placidly back, waiting calmly for her to pull herself together. "What are you looking at," she accused the machine's blank neutrality. When it failed to respond, she let her arm fall to the side of the bed, feeling around on the floor, and came up with a slipper that she barely managed to toss in the direction of her desk, not even aiming at her perceived enemy. Giving out another moan of self-loathing, she rolled onto the floor, then crawled over to her office chair, made a great show of hauling herself into the seat (there wasn't anyone to see, anyway), and huffed at the computer screen as it jumped awake to her touch on its keyboard.
Checking her email, and finding one that needed responding to immediately, she began typing, and soon, another whine filled the empty space around her. "I can't even tyyyyyype anymooooore!" The tedium of having to backspace and correct misspelled words, or syntax errors, was enough to send her back to the bed like an over-tried five year old, but she merely shrank into her chair and rubbed her face while growling out her frustrations with sounds more animal in nature than most educated humans cared to produce. She was a heathen. A stark raving heathen so full of self-pity, she could barely stand her own company, and spent half her day trying to get away from herself, leaving her exhausted. Managing to pound out the few lines required by way of reply, she sent the pixels off to do what they did in cyber-space, and resisted the urge to call that enough of an accomplishment to merit a long nap.
Blanche knew she had a long way to go to consider herself worthy of earning a lie-down, but she wasn't sure where to begin. Checking and responding to email hardly counted, since she had used this activity to replace her morning yoga practice, more than a month ago. She considered that, and stood up wearily, rolling the office chair aside to make enough room on the floor for her to perform a sun salutation. Stretching her arms up to the sky, she then reached out as far as she could and bent forward, until her fingers brushed the tops of her toes. She couldn't help but notice how tight the back of her legs felt, and noted how in the recent past, she could rest her palms flat on the floor with little effort. Inhaling, she stretched her left leg out behind her, then exhaled as she reached her arms skyward again. Another inhale as she set her hands on the ground, then an exhale as she moved her right leg back in line with her left, and pressed her hips upwards into 'downward dog'. She took a moment to breathe in this position, savoring the sensation of feeling her back stretched flat, and noting the pull in the back of her stiff thigh and calf muscles. Drawing a blank on the next move in the sequence, she crumpled to her knees and elbows, sighed another great sigh, and lay down. "I quit," she mumbled into the carpet, which she couldn't help but notice needed a good shampooing.
Last January, sometime around the 1st, the boy and I decided to take one of our many empty glass jars and fill it with our best memories from over the course of the year, then read them out to each other on the following New Year's Eve, 2015. Well, we didn't do it on New Year's Eve, because the majority of our household items were still packed away in storage at that point, but we did unpack that particular box tonight, and found our jar, so we did the thing, and I decided it was fun enough to share with all of you. foreshadow - at one point during the fall, we were walking down a wooded trail, and we passed under a large branch hanging from another branch of the tree, and thinking it might fall on someone and possibly hurt them, I reached up and grasped it, gave a slight tug, it came down on the boy's head, and he began to cry, briefly. He was alright, though I felt bad (obviously), but we swiftly moved on along with our day. Later, when we got back home, I thought it might be amusing to write the experience down for the memory jar, just to throw in a twist: "what? that wasn't fun, that sucked! you're weird, Mom!" so I wrote 'the day when my mom dropped that branch on my head' on a slip of paper, folded it up, and dropped it in the jar to be discovered at a later date...here are our best memories of 2014:
Frank Zappa show
today I saw half levitating ice
today I got my first electric guitar
today I played my first day of my show
today I played my second day of my show
(me) ROLLING STONES!!!
today I played at Deitz Stadium
today I played my best of season show
archery (x 2)
(me) L. B.'s Birthday!
J's barbeque
today I went to MOMATH (museum of math)
today I did a skyscraper class (Center for Architecture, NYC)
colony 36! (live action role playing game)
punk day 1
punk day 2
crowd surfing at punk
(me) PUNK! both nights!
mom's enlarger
Robin Hood!
(me) Today was a good day
the Jersey Shore (x 2)
(me, impersonating him) the day when my mom dropped that branch on my head
as we took turns reading through our moments, I kept wondering where the branch scenario was going to pop up, which one of us was going to pick it? slips of paper were shaken from the jar, read out, but no branch story. I began to wonder if I had really put it in the jar, or if I just imagined it. finally, there was one slip of paper left, and I was pretty sure I knew what it was going to say. he grabbed for it and read out, "the day when my mom dropped that branch on my head", frowned, looked at me, looked back at the bit of paper in his hands, and looked back at me. I, of course, was laughing. I thought it was awesome the way he read it out, because it was first-person, even though he didn't write the note! he caught on and began to laugh as well. "You're so weird, Mom, why would you do that!" he giggled.
"Hey, I've been waiting several months to watch that joke play out - do you remember that day? Sorry again, by the way, but that was so totally funny!"
so worth it. soon as the jar was empty of last year's remembrances, the boy put two slips of paper in for this year's memories already. guess I'll have to think back over the past few weeks since the year began, and see what I can put in the jar for next New Year's Eve. looking forward to filling another jar (and year) with moments of joy shared with my best guy.
Today feels like an overwhelming defeat. It would be nice if there were bluebirds singing sweetly, while racoons and chipmunks help me wrap up all my belongings, and place them in boxes to put in storage. It would be wonderful if all my friends came by to drink wine, listen to music, and chat while helping the birds and small mammals pack up (the sweet little things lack the opposable thumbs necessary to work the tape dispenser) - the mood might even be festive, if a little weird for the wildlife helpers. With a bank account full of scratch, there wouldn't be any of the looming pressure of wondering where the cash for the storage space would come from, or the means to get the boxes there (including getting the boxes). The made-up imaginings of what it might look like to move in some wealthy, well-connected person's reality slide across my mind, and it seems positively dreamy - one decides that one's current living situation could stand some improvement, so a suitable alternative is found. One then has a 'moving party' where food and drink are in abundance as one's friends and acquaintances happily wrap and pack (along with bluebirds and several small, furry creatures...possibly a groovy Pict) until the job is done. Then the hired help comes in to do all the heavy lifting, safely transports everything to the new location, and unloads it with care. Voila - moved! All that's left is to unpack at one's leisure, and enjoy decorating the new space. Seems marvelous, no? Of course, I have no idea if that's what it's really like, as for the past 25 years, my moves look more like a desperate leap from here to wherever I land. Sometimes it works out great, other times...not so much. But for better or worse, that's how I choose live my life.
"Why on Earth would you make that choice?" you might ask. There are a great many reasons, some of which include the stories of my personal demons, some have more to do with family history or genetic memory, others are more about fleeing discrimination, or some other form of personal danger. Sometimes, I just don't want to live anywhere, but travel around and see new things every day - and yes, that is a valid lifestyle choice, in my opinion. Just to clarify, though I say 'choose', it doesn't always feel that way, but I can't negate my own responsibility in failing to provide for myself what most folks call a stable living situation. Don't get me wrong, I pay my rent, keep my house neat and tidy, am a good tenant, and always leave a place cleaner than I found it - I just don't usually end up staying in one place much longer than a year. This pattern began as soon as I started living my own - having rented my first apartment for about a year, a friend living in another state wrote to me (remember letters?) to say his roommates were all moving out, and since he knew my lease was about up, would I come move down there with him so he could keep his place. Sure, why not? I had no special ties to the town I was living in, no close friends I couldn't bear to leave, no true community, so...off I went to experience something different.
Then came that particular friend's financial issues, which, while I was in a position to help him out, I wasn't in that good a position, and we ended up moving out just about a year later, and returning to our home state, where we had a better support system, and knowledge of the area - so much the better for finding work. So, with a pocketful of money, and a head full of the images painted by a talented fiction author, I soon decided that I had to live all the way across the country in yet another state, because it felt like a better fit for me based on what I had read - and off I went. I had a hard time finding work out there, so I left my apartment after less than a year to live in a more communal space where many young people down on their luck gathered together to pool our resources and help each other survive. We weren't homeless, exactly, but we were living pretty close to the bone, with some of my friends residing in a 'bus village' in the local woods. We were safe and happy, and tied together by our ingenuity for survival outside the mainstream, and things were pretty good there for awhile, on the edge of what most people would consider okay (my mother would have gone around the bend, had she seen the conditions we considered acceptable, but isn't that part of why we test ourselves in these ways while we're young?). In any case, I decided that while the fiction writer had his points about the locale his writing drew me to, it wasn't really for me, and that I wanted - for several reasons - to return again to my home state, and try something new in someplace old.
Renting another apartment in another sketchy community (but one I knew from having grown up in proximity to), I decided to stay put long enough to finish up a two-year degree I had been working on for about five years, opening up an opportunity for me to travel overseas, which I jumped on immediately, while making plans to land in a different state than the one I had started out from, on my return. I was really getting the hang of this moving around and seeing lots of different places, and I liked it quite a bit! My friends thought I was incredibly brave and intrepid - I felt expansive and well-traveled, like I was some kind of modern day explorer, seeking out adventure and knowledge in exotic locales, while most folks I knew stayed in one place, doing the same things. If I had to guess, I'd say they were planning for their futures, while I only planned for the next day, or at most, maybe six months forward. When I got back to the States from overseas, I took my few belonging with me and moved to the next state on my list to do some more schooling, and had to live on campus, according to the school's policy. That was a tough semester - living in a dorm after having been on my own for so long was a bit of a shock to my system, but it was a small school, and there were only nine of us in the building, so it actually turned out okay, and we mostly all got along. When three of the guys moved out, it was even better.
Renting an apartment off campus the next semester was a given, and between my work-study pay and a part-time job in the community, I didn't need for my boyfriend to move in, but I let him anyway. When he graduated, I got another roommate, but I wasn't pleased with the people he brought over, so I rented a house with another friend just as I started dating a guy who was moving about an hour away for his job. Well, as our relationship got more serious, the distance became too much, and as I was no longer in the school program and in need of employment, I moved in with the new boyfriend, and got a job where he worked. That lasted until I got tired of being on top of a snowy mountain when it was Spring in the valley, so I said if he wanted to be with me, he'd have to follow me down into town, where I rented yet another apartment, and got yet another job. Eventually, the relationship floundered, and we gave up the apartment to go our separate ways. I took a less expensive place for awhile, but Mr. Ex-boyfriend didn't do so well for himself, and started coming back around looking to get back together, with the prospect of a really sweet living situation if we were willing to put in the cash, and a great deal of elbow grease. Well, I kinda loved the guy, and had the same vision he did about the place he wanted to rent, so - off we went! Once again, it was my money that paid for the place, if the elbow grease was mostly his. I did my fair share of work, but he was the driving force in making that place great - and I stayed there for five whole years, even after I kicked him out.
Mr. Ex had some financial and familial trouble of his own, at that point, and I had a good job, so I gave him the sweet living situation and moved back to an apartment in town, which was a better situation for me, as well. But - I overestimated what I could afford, and when business dropped off at my main job, and even taking a second job wasn't covering the rent, I had to move to a less expensive place. Then I lost both my jobs, and not having any savings, I found myself putting all my things in storage and couch surfing at friends' houses - it also turned out that I was pregnant. So here I was, without an income, without housing, without savings, without a partner or a plethora of supportive friends or family, without even the prospect of work (who's going to hire a pregnant, homeless lady? not that I didn't try...), in the middle of Winter in a cold climate. When there wasn't a couch to sleep on, there was the homeless shelter. Thankfully, in my ninth month, I was gifted the money to rent myself a place, some kind friends brought my things over from storage, and I did the best I could with what I had to make the place ready to welcome my new baby who came one month after I settled in. At that point, I turned to public assistance for help.
The State got me yet another apartment through their subsidized housing program, which was extremely affordable, but extremely unpleasant in the form of my neighbors, who were of a very different mindset than I was used to, and there was trouble from the start. They hated me as a representation of a life they had never had, and resented my child for the benefits he reaped as a result of my education and experience. The new baby and I were living a subsistence existence, even though I had managed to start and run my own home business, but the neighbors were harassing us, going so far as to vandalize my car by smashing out the windows, threatening us with physical violence, and throwing things at our bedroom windows at night. I soon moved again, but here began a series of less-than-fortunate living situations facilitated by my new lack of financial resources. After selling off my business equipment and not having enough money to rent an actual apartment, yet needing to get out of where we were living as soon as possible, I once again stored all my belongings, and took a weekly room at the local dumpy motel until I found an efficiency I could afford with the money left over from paying for the daycare necessary for me to work a part-time job. The job was decent, but a bit of a hike, and I was spending more money on travel than I could afford, so I chose to move closer, got the little one into an awesome new daycare right near my job, and took on more hours. And here, we settled in for a minute - just about about a year.
During that year, one of my close friends had a parent die, and as a result, he took over the care-taking of one of his deceased parent's properties while it was being put on the market for sale (he had also lived in the house, nursing that parent through his illness, and it had been his home for many years). He knew that my job was winding down my hours as tourist season in my resident state wound down, and that as my baby was now growing past his toddling stage, I was looking into where I might want him to go to school, which would most likely mean another move for me, as the town I lived in didn't really meet the criteria. Just as I found another job closer to my field of interest for better pay, in a town I saw as a better option for my child in terms of community and educational opportunity, my friend offered me an apartment in his house, which was near to the remnants of my family, whom my child barely knew. And my grandmother was dying. So, I took another leap of faith, packed up everything I owned, and moved back to my home state with a feeling of trepidation, and perhaps some small amount of hope that I might be able to get the help I obviously needed, because this parenting thing seemed to require more support than I was getting, and I was under the (false) impression that my family would be willing to assist me in managing it, because they said they would (they were not). While moving in with my friend was an unmitigated disaster - he didn't get that being a parent requires one to give up certain 'party-lifestyle' elements for more mundane pursuits - I soon found an apartment right across the street from my new job, and the small child and I settled in to try and make a home, again.
Two years later, tired of the dead-end job, sick of the judgements and lack of support from my family, disgusted at the school system my child was enrolled in, frustrated with situations at the apartment pertaining to the landlady's mentally-questionable son who lived downstairs (as well as being told by the power company that I was paying for another neighbor's electricity), I was ready to run back to the state I had previously inhabited. An old friend I hadn't seen in years resurfaced in my life, and she asked me to consider moving up to her neck of the woods before running back into the wilds of where she hadn't seen me for more than a decade, so I did. Spending all of my savings, I moved us up to our latest community, and found a halfway decent job rather quickly, got the kid enrolled in school, and tried to settle in, but the State deemed both my apartment and my job were only marginally legal, and as a single parent, I didn't feel I could safely live that close to edge, so found an 'approved' housing situation, and quit my job in search of something on the up-and-up. My kid stayed in the same school, and I promised there wouldn't be any more moving any time soon. Sadly, I was wrong. The landlady at that place decided she could charge more money for the apartment, and as I couldn't afford to pay more, I had to go. Luckily (or so I thought at the time), there was a new housing project I was on the waiting list for, and we were approved to move in just in time for the previous landlady to kick us out, so here we are.
Work in this town is pretty scarce (it's rather a small town), and since my last job (two weeks at a local farm market which I was fired from the first time my kid got sick and I had to call in), I've only managed to pick up a few freelance writing gigs here and there, nowhere near enough to keep us fed and housed, but we manage as best we can. The issue now, however, is that I once again find myself living in government housing, amongst people who live so differently than me, we have a certain amount of difficulty getting along as neighbors. So much so, that I have been asked told to leave because the landlord has no intention of enforcing the rights spelled out for me in my lease, such as privacy, quiet, and cleanliness, among others. When asked why this should be the case, I am told to 'get out, if I don't like it'. Hmm...the lease says no loud music, yet there is loud music. The lease says no hanging objects from the ceilings, or on the outside of the buildings, yet other tenants hang things from the ceilings, and on the outside of the buildings (I asked specifically if I could hang two matching wrought iron plant holders from my porch and was told 'no' while several other tenants have multiple tacky things hanging everywhere). The lease states our belongings must be contained to our porches and not be left willy-nilly about the property, yet guess what? There are bikes left in the street, and all manner of items laying about the property behind people's apartments and around their porches, to say nothing of the litter (candy wrappers, beer and soda cans and bottles, plastic drink containers, ice pop plastics, cigarette packs, napkins, shopping bags, sometimes a diaper or a bag of used cat litter) all over the lawn, and along all the trails that lead to and from town. The children are loud, rude, and left to their own devices, abusive to one another - I saw the oldest of them instigating and encouraging fights between the younger ones, matching them up to face off against each other with bats and sticks - and are most likely experiencing a similar level of abuse in their homes.
Frankly, I've been looking to get out of here for awhile (been here about a year and a half), but my financial situation leaves a great deal to be desired, at this point, and I think it's fair to say that I am rather down on my luck, right now. While my rent is paid up for the month of October, and I expect I will get my security deposit back - always leave it cleaner than you found it - I lack the funds to put down money on a new place, and find myself once again needing to put all my things in storage while I work out what comes next. The child isn't so small, anymore, and needs to be ferried around to classes and activities that make working a 9-5 kind of improbable, but given my field of expertise, I'm kind of dead set on figuring out how to do enough freelance work at home to support us the way we need, in the form of food/clothing/shelter, and maybe a bit extra on the side for fun and games every now and again. Doesn't seem like too much to ask, does it? Well, guess what? I'm asking. I walk around with a smile on my face and a song in my heart just like the next guy, but I'm close enough to crisis at this point to say - "hey, I'm not okay right now, and I need some help". Without anywhere else to turn, I do what I've always done, which is to take it to the page. It not only gives me the time and space to work out what's whirling around my head in a panic, it also gives me the perspective to see that this isn't some kind of negative pattern of running away from problems I'm causing in my own life, but merely a way to be in the world. There's nothing wrong with moving from place to place if that is what one so chooses, and I deny any negative implication to my doing so. While I am at a point in my life where I relish the chance the put down some roots and see what it's like to just be, I'm also unsure as to whether or not I can actually live in that manner without freaking out or feeling the itch to travel. Either way, I'd like the chance to find out.
If you can, offer us a helping hand. Given the choice, the child would prefer a roof over our heads, possibly because I'd prefer to sleep out under the stars - and isn't that always the way of it? For now, the child should have what the child wants, and I would like to be able to provide that on my own. Until I can, I see nothing wrong with putting it out there that I am available for writing projects large and small, and anywhere in between, and my rates are reasonable. And if you find yourself with a bit more than you or yours need flowing from your cup, let it overflow into ours. My generosity knew no bounds when I had it to offer, so I feel no remorse in asking for some of that abundance to come back my way, for the sake of the small life entrusted to my care. Thank you so much for reading along, and sharing this small slice of my life with me. With all my best wishes, Selah ~
