STICKY

PERHAPS WE LEARNED SOMETHING.....
…Perhaps we were only mildly entertained. Regardless, please enjoy! If you are looking for Kaylia's official Website please visit KayliaMetcalfeWriter



Mail Motivation

Today’s rant about the degenerate youth, the crazy bus people (drivers included), and the hopefully amusing story about the first time I ever used the dreaded F Word will have to wait until later.

Because I got another royalty check in the mail!

Yes… that’s me… PAID WRITER person! Person who receives royalty or commission checks in the mail!

Not often, it’s true. Not big ones, also true.

But still!

The first one came a few months ago and there was much jumping up and down and kissing of bystanders. I think I squealed, I know I regret not getting a photo.

Anyway, so another one came today. Which is awesome on so many levels…. But perhaps the best thing about getting something like this is that it makes me want another one.

Several more in fact.

I have been rather lazy about my next writing project. I have flitted back and forth with topics, I have let my notes pile up and then be shuffled off. I have pushed errant story arches aside in favor of social events and watching Glee.

Staying motivated can be hard. There are so many cool things going on… So many wonderful distractions.

A few days ago while writing to my cousin I gave a brief run down of my next project.

“It’s a fantasy story about culture clash the parallels the drama between the Spanish and the Native Californians… but it’s fantasy, so you know, magic and symbolism. Also Pagan gods and stuff.”

He seemed stoked to read it.

Which helps me be stoked to write it.

The occasional check in the mail helps too.

Writing Ahoy!

The Drugs Not Taken

I had a tooth removed last week and while I am getting used to the place in my mouth that feels odd and empty and recovering pretty much on schedule, there is still an aspect to the adventure that led me to one of those “I learned something useful about myself today” sort of moments.

And it was al because of the drugs.

At my pre- surgery appointment, I told my oral surgeon that I had had a bad reaction to Vicodin in the past. (Bad reaction = horrible hallucinations of violence and death that would strike while I was doing something mundane like eating a candy bar or working the cash register at the bookstore. Not fun.)

Anyway, on the morning of my surgery, I realized that they had accidentally prescribed me Vicodin. I told them and they were only too happy to call in a new prescription: Darvocet.

Here begins the lesson.

Even after Matthew went and picked up the Darvocet, no one asked for the Vicodin back. Which means that I had a full bottle of the stuff that I certainly wasn’t going to take. What does one do with a bottle of prescription pain meds? Well since I am a) a good person and b) the epitome of boring suburban middle class, I opted to recycle them back to the pharmacy.

I didn’t take them… and I didn’t sell them.

Taking them really hold no real thrall. I remember those walking nightmares. No thank you.

But selling them….

Of course I didn’t.

But the thought keeps coming back… that I could have.

Well, maybe. Honestly I don’t know the practicality of offloading drugs, having never done so in the past. In fact, I don’t even know how much they would be worth or how an enterprising individual would go about selling them.

Still, the thought lingers. It isn’t really that I want or need the money. I’m not rolling in cash, but I am not that hard up either. It isn’t that I want to spread the joy of drugs to others. It is just… that I am curious.

Curious about the details. Curious about how the whole thing would ‘go down.”

Curious.

I am a writer (sometimes) and I crave experiences. Sometimes I have put myself in dangerous situations because I wanted to find out what would happen. There are many things you can imagine and gleam from good old fashioned book learning, but there are many things that I think I can only write about if I either hear about them first hand or, better yet, experience them first hand.

So, yes. I am curious.

Now, this is a small thing and I was totally honest about it. (Go me!) I’m not going to say that I think my curiosity about the drugs reeks of a slippery slope and that next month I will be more likely to take up some other sort of illicit thrill seeking activity just for the sake of doing it.

At least I hope not.

But it does make me consider other things that I have done for the sake of doing them….. it does make me pause and consider that I have, in the past, been a little too spontaneous and cavalier.

I have done some pretty stupid things. Some of them ended badly. But some of them were amazing thrilling life building never want to regret them kind of things.

So I guess I will continue to strive for the balance of allowing my curiosity to lead me to interesting places but also maintaining enough common sense to keep myself safe… and out of legal trouble.

A Tale of Tooth

In the interest of having food and shoes and a roof overhead, I forwent having any sort of medical or dental insurance for a number of years.

I wasn’t worried. I brushed, I flossed (occasionally), I ate okay (well, sort of) and I thought I was taking pretty good care of myself. Upon getting to a point where I was able to afford dental insurance, I signed up, waited happily for my card, and then made an appointment.

, but I took the proclamation of “your teeth are fine” as truth and went along with life. I told myself that as soon as the six month waiting period was over, I would go back to the dentist (a different dentist) and get an actual cleaning.

Which I did in February.

This time they took XRays. This time there was an actual cleaning.

And this time I was told I had a few cavities and one Big Massive Horrible Infection that was ALMOST TO THE BONE! (Last molar on the bottom right side…. You know, where the pain has been….)

I asked what my options were… I mean, having insurance doesn’t mean having an inexhaustible well of money. In fact, by this point I was down to 500 bucks of insurance money to play with. Everything else would be me.

My options? Have A Root Canal: Several trips to the dentist and the specialist (as a non driver and a person without oodles of paid sick time, this is a concern). There would be no actual guarantee of getting all the infection. The cost would be around $2500.00

I asked for another option. Have the tooth extracted. This would entail one visit to the oral surgeon (being put under) and recovery of a few days. The infection would be guaranteed gone. The cost would be around $600 but down the road (in about 5 years I would either need to have another tooth pulled (the one directly behind the space-that-used-to-be-a-tooth) or have a fake tooth put in. That fake tooth could cost up to $3000.

I see myself as a fairly practical person. I also have a hard time asking people for help… especially financial help.

So I chose option 2 and have already began to earmark money for the eventual tooth replacement.

And tomorrow I go in and lose a tooth.

Think happy pain free thoughts for me!

Mace From Peppers

India is currently trying to weaponize* some of their more potent peppers



It makes a sort of sense. The peppers are spicy and hot, they make people gag and burn their eyes. They can be converted into tear gas and mace type sprays.



But I have a weird sense of humor and I can just see the counter measures for this as being milk sprays, big pieces of bread, or, I dunno, those cheap little white masks that people use while riding the subway, or you know, mowing the lawn.



Still though… I sort of like the idea of Using Nature to Fight Our Battles for us. I can just see some sort of Bean Powered Gas being released in the next couple months. Now, if we could only wake up the trees, we would be set.





*Weaponize is not a word according to Microsoft. Seriously? I can understand why “mocha” and “meh” aren’t… but “weaponize”? Heck, they even added in “blog.” I guess I could take that as an optimistic sign, but I don’t.

Part Four

Part Four should be the end. Or rather, to be technical, the end of this particular series of annoying events.


More waiting.

Distractions of social events. And moving.

More waiting.

Eventually I am told that I can start the new birth control without first having my now three week late period. Or rather, to be technical, I don’t have to wait for anything. They are finally sure, after test after test and some intimate calendaring, that I am not pregnant.

An antibiotic for potential thyroid issues. A reassuring pat on the back.

Ok then… I figure I’ll start the new stuff on a Sunday. Clean start. Beginning of the week. I pat my purse reassuringly. I have been carrying the new birth control around in my purse for now almost three weeks because I don’t want to lose it.

Of course on Sunday, it comes up lost. Or rather, to be technical… it cannot be found. I empty out my purse. I empty out my backpack I go through the trash. I go through the one remaining box of Matthew Stuff. I tear apart the bathroom. I look in every nook and cranny I can think of.

No dice.

(Or rather, to be technical, lots of dice,we are gamers after all). No birth control.

I call the pharmacy. Insurance won’t cover me getting more so soon after getting the last pack. (Because… well, no good reason from this angle.)

I have to buy it without the insurance discount, without it getting credited toward a deductible. I don’t care. I pick it up, I read the instructions, I try to ignore the long list of possible complications and side affects.

And then today, I find the pack.

It was in my purse.

Or rather, to be technical, it was in my day planner that was in my purse.

Le sigh.

Yesterday

Yesterday I mailed books to my nieces because I think reading is one of the best uses of one’s time.

Yesterday I bought a new red sparkly dice set not because I am superstitious enough to think that they might help my rolls, but because they were red and sparkly.

Yesterday I didn’t eat anything but a personal pepperoni and sausage pizza because I was too busy and then it was too late and then I was too tired.

Yesterday I did my taxes for the second time all by myself because I decided a year ago to stop relying on someone else to do something for me that I can do myself.

Yesterday I paid a girl to clean my old apartment because despite the entry above, sometimes it is nice to not have to do it yourself.

Yesterday I let my shoulders get just a tad sunburnt because I am trying to get my pale skin used to the sunshine in stages.

Yesterday I realized again how very sweet my boyfriend is because he opted to stay in the field an extra day in order to help make someone else’s life a little easier.

Yesterday I was reminded about how special sisters can be because I have a few honorary sister types who treat me pretty darn well.

Yesterday I returned a video to the store because I didn’t want a late fee.

Yesterday I didn’t eat a doughnut even though they smelled so good because I am practicing self restraint.

Yesterday I let one of my honeydew candles burn all the way down to the bottom because I wanted to use the candle holder for something else.

Yesterday I played with the cat for a full half an hour because I had the time and she needed the attention.

Yesterday I was happy. The because should be obvious.

Magic Words

I had another Kay Adventure today.

Let me start by saying that creepy mean spirited rude people suck.

I met a few today on a sidewalk near downtown Santa Cruz,

There I was, walking quickly, a woman on a mission to get back to her BRP b movie table top game (I had ran over to the old apartment and paid the cleaning gal) when I was beset by a group of rowdy high school boys.

They might have been college boys, but the point is they were young, probably close to ten years younger than me. There were four of them and they were blocking the sidewalk, just hanging out and taking up space.

As I neared them I had to slow down (I am a very fast walker… especially when there is pizza and a game waiting for me). I figured they would notice me and step aside. I counted on them being normal well adjusted human beings.

Silly me.

Eventually I had to stop walking, they were totally in my way, and I said in my cheerful happy voice, “’Scuse me.”

Again, I figured they would set to the side, smile, whatever. Again, no.

They looked at me, they towered a bit over me, and then they moved closer to me. At this point, I was not quite surrounded, but getting close and suddenly just a bit nervous.

I waved my hand in a vague way, I just want to squeeze through them and continue on my way. Apparently this slight hand motion was seen as disrespectful or condescending or something worthy of scorn.

“What’s the magic word?”

I blinked at him, the leader obviously, the one right in front of me, tall enough that I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. “What?”

“Yeah, the magic word, what is it/” Echoed by his buddies, they all began to move around me. In another second, I knew, I will be completely invisible to the burger eating masses at Jacks.

This is one of those moments where you wish things would slow down. Don’t things tend to slow down in books and stories? And yes, sometimes they do in real life too… but usually it is when someone (maybe you) has dropped your mother’s favorite ceramic angel on the back yard sidewalk or when your cat is preparing to throw up all over the brand new carpet and you are just far enough away that you can’t do anything to stop it.

See, if things could have slowed down, then I might have been able to think of something witty, “Open Sesame” or forceful ‘Fuck you!” or polite ‘Please?”

But things didn’t slow down and my instinct wasn’t any of the above.

I pointed behind the leader, down toward Pacific. “Cop.”

They all turned to look and I back peddled four steps and then made a beeline for the sidewalk across the street.

I made it and moved my butt down that sidewalk at what can only be described as a fierce scamper.

I know that there are people out there who sometimes chide me for being paranoid, who tease me gently for dead bolting my front door at all times, who get annoyed with me when I opt to call the cops for a noisy neighbor instead of knocking on a nearby front door.

And yes, sometimes other approaches might work. But I think I’ll stick to this reaction. I won’t listen when a friend tells me that I should have stuck up for myself, when another tells me that the boys were probably harmless, or when people roll their eyes at my naivety.

After all, I am the one who always seems to end up in these situations. I am the one with the glowing green arrow above my head announcing “Potential victim” to the masses at large. I am the one who has been mugged three times.

But I am also the one who outran a crazy bad driver. I am the one who ended up on top in a bar brawl gone horribly wrong. I am the one who once talked a mugger out of mugging me.

I think I do all right.

But still…. I really really wish there were less creepy mean spirited rude people out there.

Because honestly? They suck.

Little Bee


Little Bee by Chris Cleave


I was a bit wary of the book when I started it. About half way though I found that I was really really enjoying it. Towards the end I had retreated to my state of wariness, and upon completion I was filled with the sentiment that can only be described as “frustration.”

The book is about a Nigerian refugee in England. The book is about an English woman having a mid life crisis. The book is about loss, both the tangible loss of family and fingers and the intangible such as sense of self and pride. The book is about how we sometimes cling to illusions of safety, of innocence, or, in the case of the four year old lynch pin, our Batman costume.

The prose is well crafted, the narration is sometimes clunky but well intentioned, and the plot mechanics work until they simply don’t. But that, I have been told, is life. We don’t always get a Hollywood ending and in truth looking for one from this novel would be a colossal mistake.

The best parts about this novel were the two voices that wove together a complex story. Cleave shines in his ability to create such dynamic and believable characters. Like real people, they are flawed but they are also beautiful in their own ways. They are not soon forgotten.

I would recommend this book for the poetic of mind and the soft of heart. Weaving together dark comedy and universal truths, Cleave has created a story that is defiantly worth reading.

A Review Worth Note

As faithful readers of my blog know, I wrote a book, got it published, and now spend a tiny bit of time shilling it.

A while ago I asked if any of those who have read it would mind writing a brief review of it for Amazon.com

One of those reviews was recently posted and I want to share it with you all… partly because it is a wonderful review about my book, but mostly because it is a extremely beautiful piece of writing.




My freshman art teacher told us not to draw lines, but to define the boundary between a thing and everything else. An object, he would say, is defined by the space around it that is not itself. Michelangelo described this concept with regard to his sculpture when he said "I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition..." I was reminded of all this while reading Kaylia Metcalfe's elegant and intimate short story collection, Links. Her stories had me thinking of what was there and what was deliberately set aside.

The stories turn like dazzling little soap bubbles in your fingers. After reading the first few, I started picturing delicate, intricate things, like bubbles, spider webs, old clockworks, and model airplanes. I thought of balsa wood clipper ships; I imagined her gently tapping and gluing mast and hull pieces together, carefully brushing on wet paint, weaving slender threads of rigging all around, testing the wires with gentle tugs and pulls, and finally setting it all on some gently bobbing water, maybe in a sink where a baby was just washed. At any moment, it could all sink or come apart; there could be a violent snapping of lines, there could be melodrama, histrionics, revelations, confessions, soliloquies, tirades, protestations, and proclamations. But that never happens. Those things all are real and they are all potentially imminent, but they're what's been hewn away or erased into empty space.

What remains is the rigging. The rigging links parts of the ship, keeps it together, and in fact defines the object as what it is. In each of Metcalfe's stories, the central action involves a specific connection or `link' between two people. These take place in frozen moments of time, like the temporarily calm eye of a hurricane. The links are the hearts of the stories in this collection, and the threads that run through them all.

Metcalfe quietly infuses her stories with clever timekeepers to mark and measure these moments. There's a rusty pendulum, a slowly setting sun, a magical childhood twilight in between dinner and bath time. In one story that is otherwise pregnant with time passing, there is a room with dark curtains and no clocks. In these ways, Metcalfe assembles very special places in time for her links to find and twine about each other.

The stories feel extremely personal, intimate, and strangely familiar. At one point I (figuratively) looked behind my shoulder to see if Metcalfe was watching me, if she'd been watching me my whole life. I thought of that Roberta Flack song about a woman who is sure a singer is "Telling my whole life with his words, killing me softly with his song." I was directly connecting with several of her characters and their situations. But it wasn't simply due to some universalism of plot. These are not superficial retellings of Shakespeare or hero myths, although there are Titans clashing here and there. The stories are completely original and honest, precisely because they are so perfectly intimate and personal. But what's interesting to me is how the common humanity is in what Metcalfe doesn't explicitly say.

For example, in the longest and perhaps most ambitious story of the collection, Night Scape, there is a scene of such fragile tenderness and honesty that I felt a bit like a voyeur reading it. I'd never had that reaction to a story before, and I think it was because I could deeply relate to the heart of the moment (if not the specific details). It's about an older married couple, still living in a house together but emotionally separated by age and failure and mundane reality. They share a rare moment of sexual intimacy, but it's not the awkward, unfulfilling sex that links them; it's the care they clearly still have for each other, the depth of their ability to trust and be vulnerable to each other, and the shared honesty around exactly who and what and where they are. Metcalfe's insight into this moment and the skill and respect with which she reveals it to us are truly breathtaking.

After that I was actually a bit gun shy. Some of these stories can feel almost too dangerous. It can be like a scene in a horror movie where the innocent co-ed is about to go down into the boiler room to find out what's making that odd noise. Metcalfe makes us watch the girl go down the stairs into the darkness, until we start shouting at the screen, "No! Don't go there!"

But nothing entirely predictable happens in this collection. As in real life, there are no superficially satisfying resolutions or pointless happy endings. Sometimes, questions remain entirely unanswered. But also as in real life, there are no purely indulgent tragedies or incomprehensible plot twists. Oh, there are horrors, real and imagined. This boat is bobbing in some deep waters. I found myself staring at the page a few times, hoping that what I'd just read hadn't really happened. But I know that actual horror is real. These stories are about as real as I can imagine stories being.

Metcalfe is also very good at crafting simple but effective sensory metaphors. She uses them with subtlety, like punctuation, so you may not even notice them right away. But as with good punctuation, nothing is wasted. When a mother and daughter stop by the side of the road, the daughter "...puts her hands on the steering wheel and curls her fingers in, then out, then in again." When a young girl hands a beggar some spare change, "Part of his mind was wondering how odd it was that the coins were so warm against his palms." She takes you momentarily away from the characters and plot so you can really feel something in a primal way. All story description attempts to do this, of course, but Metcalfe's style is refreshingly direct.

Finally, this collection has that all-important element of good writing - verisimilitude. In the first story, Angel, a man shares a very dramatic and tragic moment with a stranger. It's not the type of thing that most people have personally experienced, but in my opinion Metcalfe gets it brilliantly right. She is clearly writing what she knows. She's doing it with skill and honesty, and without a hint of self-indulgence.

Ms. Metcalfe is a gifted and disciplined writer. Links is a marvelous testament to the unique power and beauty of the short story, and each story is a uniquely intimate exploration into humanity and human connection.



Thank you John. I was deeply touched by what you wrote…and I would love to read anything else you might write!

And if you are interested in buying a copy for yourself…
here is the link

Thank You

I want to say Thank You

Thank you to Matt who’s tips on where to get good cardboard were perfect and led to many many free boxes of excellent quality being rescued from their dumpster homes.

Thank you to Ian who gave us the use of his truck and his muscles and his good will in the rain on Friday night.

Thank you to Big Five for being open late on Friday night so we could buy a queen sized air mattress since our bed was unavoidably delayed.

Thank you to Rachel for helping with the move, for going dumpster diving with me, for buying plates and cups and a bottle opener, for taking photos. Also for protecting the rose.

Thank you to Jeff for helping with the move and for being such a cheerful addition to the team.

Thank you to John for helping with the move and for not suing when he got a bungee cord to the gut.

Thank you to Scott for helping with the move on Saturday and also loaning us his vehicle on Sunday so that we could transport our new dinning room table home safely.

Thank you to Kathy for helping with the move and for offering perfect timed words of encouragement.

Thank you to Gina for helping with the move and for keeping the hangers, the chess set, and other priceless things safe.

Thank you to Tom for helping with the move and sticking around to keep us company while we started to unpack.

Thank you to Patrick and Stacy for playing “relief pitchers,” helping us set up the living room, and bringing us bread, wine, and smelly things.

Thank you to Good Will for having a sale.

Thank you to the sunshine that made the weekend lovely.

Thank you to my boss for letting me take Monday off thus being able to finish unpacking and spend some quality time with The MaifanSan before he left for southern CA again.

Thank you to Franklin and Adele who took care of Missy May while we prepared for the move. She has finally forgiven me for taking her home.

And mostly.. Thank You to The MaifanSan himself for being patient and kind and sweet during the move. For letting me hang my tapestry. For putting up with my when I got grumpy. For agreeing to live with me. For reminding me of what is important. For cuddling me on an air mattress. For offering to rub my neck. For letting me obsess about random things. For letting me redo some of the organization. For being a wonderful partner.


Thank you all!

Lost and Found

Things I lost and found in the move.

Found:
Spare key to the office storage room
Half a dozen cat toys
My apple peeler/corer/slicer.
Matthew’s slippers
My Summer Clothes!

Lost
Matthew’s W2
Our kitchen trash can
A few Doo-Dads (aka, shelf holder uppers)
The new parking pass

All in all I think we did okay. We are all moved in. We still need to decorate, but the furniture is all set up (except the futon which will arrive on Sunday) and there aren’t anymore boxes that need to be opened up.

Next huge project? Organizing the books.

Oh… and I LOVE our new apartment! Looking forward to our first Open House shin dig thing in April!

Science that will freak you out

Robots… they might actually take over the world someday. What a lot of sci fi forgets to show us though are all the little steps that take us from this:



To this:



Right, I know… that isn’t real, … that is sci fi… but you know what is real, what isn’t sci fi?

This



And if that doesn’t freak you out a little bit, well check your emotion chip and recharge your batteries.

/shudder.

I am not sure if it would be better or even worse if it had a head. All I know is that this is the stuff of nightmares.

/cheers!

Part Three

You wait.

They say the worst part of not knowing is what you think might be. If you have an active imagination, you have it worse than your dull minded counterparts.

You realize one afternoon that what you had planned for today isn't happening.

You wait.

When the realization that your period is late arrives, you worry.

You wait but you are more worried than patient and you buy a pregnancy test. It is negative, you sigh a hug sigh of relief. Until your body continues to act in ways it shouldn't, namely it does not do what you want it to.

You let another day go by and then another. You start to doubt the test. You start to think about “what if....”

You take another test and again the negative result makes you glad for an instant until you realize that at least a positive answer would be an answer and you are stuck here still with the not knowing.

You carry a pad around in your left front pocket. You are ready. You try not to think about it. You can think about nothing else.

You go to the doctor. You take yet another pregnancy test. You feel that you have gotten really good at peeing in cups and keeping your chin up. You stare at your body in the mirror and flinch at every gastrointestinal flinching. You wait.

They say stress. They say fluke. They say new method of birth control that you can only start after your body resets itself. They say to wait.

They say slightly odd blood work. They say potential thyroid problems.

You count the seven then eight days past the day you first noticed that something was not quite right.

Maybe you dream about a life you didn't want nine days ago but now doesn't seem so bad. You might feel guilty even though you know that's stupid.

You feel alone.

You wait.

Not The Only One

Apparently Lindsey Lohan is the ONLY Lindsey allowed to exist.

You know that talking baby ad campaign that E*Trade has been running?

This ad ran during the Super Bowl.




According to the ad team, they picked the name of the “milkaholic” baby to be Lindsey because it is a popular baby name and the name of someone on the team.

But Ms Lohan feels differently.. she feels that since she goes by simply “Lindsey” all “Lindsey”s are, or should be, referring to her. Thus they owe her money and they should pull the ad.

Here’s the thing. Is Lindsey a popular girl’s name? No, not really. Why? Because people would rather name their daughters Plum or Josie (ack!) or maybe because a lot of us have negative connotations to the name Lindsey because of Ms Lohan. (I also would never name my daughter Britney, same reason.)

BUT Ms Lohan isn’t the only Lindsey out there, (thankfully) and her suit, like the lady herself, is just ridiculous.



In fact if you type "lindsey" into Google search, she isn't even the first Lidsey to pop up. Lidsey Vonn is.




It would be one thing if the baby in the commercial had been named Cher



or Madonna



… but you know what Ms Lohan? You are no Cher nor Madonna.



Hell girl, you aren’t even an Elmo.





And that’s saying something.

Part Two

Part Two

In the rain that morning I considered what I would eventually say about the whole thing.

An adult in charge of her destiny, there was suddenly the absence of the expected. Afraid for more reasons than I could even count, I had to know. I put it off as long as I could somehow getting through the days at work, with the sense that everything was about to change.

I had walked the streets of Tokyo with a heaviness in my breasts and an a hunger that no bowl of rice could sate. I came home expecting to bask in the glow of vacation for weeks and instead was plunged into fear and loss.... and now memories of Tokyo are shadowed by the memories of pain and cramps and an moving shadow on the ultrasound. We clung to one another and cried even though inwardly we both were secretly relieved. A miscarriage is so much easier to talk about in the long run. It took me almost a year but I can say the words out loud. And this time there is no guilt. This time there is no ghost.

This morning I got out of bed at ten after five, having realized that there would be no sleep until there was an answer.

Then I sat on the couch waiting for the courage to take a test I wanted to fail.

Part One

Note: This post has been removed because I decided to steal from it for a short story

Because I can do that!

Moving

Things I won’t miss about my old apartment:

The Mold
Random piles of puke on the sidewalk next to my bedroom window
Drunken Coeds stumbling up the street at all hours of the night
The inability to get hot water for longer than 3.5 minutes. (seriously, I haven’t had an actual regular 10 minute hot shower since last April.)
The door bell that wants to be a New Year’s Noise Maker
The lack of a garbage disposal
The lack of a place to recycle


Things I will miss about my old apartment:

The location


All in all, the move will be a good thing. First though… is the massive packing project… which due to unfortunate events, I will be undertaking all by myself as the lovely MaifanSan will be out of town for 20 days in March.

Things I am looking forward to having in the new apartment:

Having our own parking spot
Living in Unit #42
A laundry room with more than one washer/dryer.
A quieter neighborhood
Being upstairs with a balcony.
Nesting with The MaifanSan in “our” first apartment.


Things I am not looking forward to in the new apartment:

Hmmm

Give it a few months and I might want to redo these lists, but for now I am clinging to my usual sense of idealistic optimism.

Happy March!