Despite the speed at which things are progessing at 1510 17th, what with the walls and temporary electricity and all, I've finally reached the terminus of my rent-free life. The house-sitting gigs have stopped appearing, probably because word got out that I kill people's houseplants and let stuff fester in their refrigerators. It's too crappy outside to sleep in the van, even if it weren't full of boxes and the not-so-vague odor of dog. And despite many generous offers, couch surfing for the next eight or nine months sounds like a really super way to screw up some friendships (guess what? I'm not much of a conversationalist at home! I'm a secret slob! I get up at the ass-crack of dawn!) So I've decided to rent an apartment--not so that I can think Deep Thoughts and construct some National Book Award winning memoir about paint chips and subflooring, but so that I can be gross in the privacy of my own space. 
It's hard not to get excited about the house, since there's progress everyday--joists, trusses, studs, and beams are organized and installed, replacing the mud and air with structure and permanence. James demonstrated the purposefulness of the kitchen windows, crouching in front of the void where the sink will be. When I was asked what he was doing--why the squatting? he said, "I was imagining about where you'll be when you wash dishes." I replicated his play-acting throughout the house: here I am greeting guests at the front door! Here I am vacuuming the bedroom! Here I am tripping down the steps from the kitchen to the living room!I'm able to maintain a state of subdued ecstasy simply 
because there are so many other things to be excited about. My group of friends that's been together 30 years gathered to celebrate Amy's 2-year triumph over cancer; I'm busily planning my birthday party; I visit daily with Laural's parents, who've dwarfed the Vanbulance by stationing Eldora II in the neighborhood for their annual month-long visit; and I occupy myself, as always with good books (see sidebar), great music (Josh Ritter at the Showbox; Brandi Carlile at the Mt. Baker); a fabulous, fun boyfriend, and as always, work and work-outs. I've also been doing lots of writing and recently posed for a photo for Village Books' Community of Readers campaign--look for me and Kosha soon in the Cascadia Weekly.
because there are so many other things to be excited about. My group of friends that's been together 30 years gathered to celebrate Amy's 2-year triumph over cancer; I'm busily planning my birthday party; I visit daily with Laural's parents, who've dwarfed the Vanbulance by stationing Eldora II in the neighborhood for their annual month-long visit; and I occupy myself, as always with good books (see sidebar), great music (Josh Ritter at the Showbox; Brandi Carlile at the Mt. Baker); a fabulous, fun boyfriend, and as always, work and work-outs. I've also been doing lots of writing and recently posed for a photo for Village Books' Community of Readers campaign--look for me and Kosha soon in the Cascadia Weekly. My energy is truthfully devoted to the impending end of my 
vagabondage: this weekend I'll assume the lease on the downtown apartment of my co-worker, Pippin. My mind is busily occupied thinking about how I'm going to get my storage unit open without my entire life's possessions crashing down from the mountainous pile towering above the DO NOT STACK ABOVE THIS LINE line. The apartment is small, but I would gamble it's got at least a hundred times the square footage of the Vanbulance, with the added bonus of toilet and shower facilities. I'm also looking forward to reuniting with my pillow-top mattress, having a place to hang my clothes, and of course, a potential reunion with Stinky, The Cat Who Traveled the World, although there's a good chance that he'll continue on with his adoptive family (a.k.a. Charlie and his children) in Sedro-Woolley. Shh...don't tell, but I might adopt a cousin for him. I've been checking out the options at Whatcom Humane Society. A warm fuzzy pet would be a great addition to my new home. Also, the cat box can help me gross it up.
vagabondage: this weekend I'll assume the lease on the downtown apartment of my co-worker, Pippin. My mind is busily occupied thinking about how I'm going to get my storage unit open without my entire life's possessions crashing down from the mountainous pile towering above the DO NOT STACK ABOVE THIS LINE line. The apartment is small, but I would gamble it's got at least a hundred times the square footage of the Vanbulance, with the added bonus of toilet and shower facilities. I'm also looking forward to reuniting with my pillow-top mattress, having a place to hang my clothes, and of course, a potential reunion with Stinky, The Cat Who Traveled the World, although there's a good chance that he'll continue on with his adoptive family (a.k.a. Charlie and his children) in Sedro-Woolley. Shh...don't tell, but I might adopt a cousin for him. I've been checking out the options at Whatcom Humane Society. A warm fuzzy pet would be a great addition to my new home. Also, the cat box can help me gross it up. 
