Profanity and News: We're Moving and We Have a Destination!

I cannot disclose the location of our destination. I can only say that where we are going, sunshine will abound and we will have snow in the winter. Where we are going, we will be on 5 acres of land, close to a lake and a river, and close enough to the city to use the electric car.

            Where we are going, we can take all three cats. We could take Baby, too, if we wanted to, but fuck that bitch. She is Pat’s responsibility. He has plans for her.

            We are moving much, much more quickly than we anticipated. Due to the fact that I do not trust the property management people to prorate rent properly this month, we are moving absolutely as soon as we are approved for the house in the mountains. You may wonder which mountains, but there are some I’d rather not know our destination. Imagine all the mountain ranges in the United States. Now imagine which ones have affordable housing. Good luck finding us.

            The important thing to note in this entry is that if all goes well, we will be moving on Tuesday, May 2^nd. This would mean I’d head south on May 3^rd, after spending a night with my grandmother in Tacoma.

            Packing has begun. The majority of my books are now in boxes and I only await the visit of my friend for the return of one. We've thrown a few options out to the four winds to see who picks up on them. People think we are moving to Colorado, but some think we might go to Las Vegas. I haven't mentioned how we've looked at houses throughout Texas, in parts of Arizona, and also in areas in Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York, Indiana, Illinois, and Kentucky.

            There’s not much more to say, here. More news will come once we are settled in the new place. It could take a while. I just hope it doesn’t throw a wrench too far into the gears of my machinations.

Chaos: Moving Again in Less than A Year

It has been nine days since I last wrote and posted a blog entry. In these past nine days, enough has happened to fill a book, but not enough has happened to properly close any of the stories that have been upset.

            Becca left and we all breathed a sigh of relief. We were then forced to hold our breath again when the people from Pettit performed their interior inspection. We were not allowed time to relax after the inspection, as we were given three pieces of paper—all of which read “Comply or Vacate” at the top. “Too many people,” they said, and “too many pets.” They didn’t give us any further details, except that if we were to refuse to comply, our rent would be increased. So, we hit scramble mode one more time to figure out what to do and I left to spend time with Gizmo, the one and only person in Washington State who consistently and quickly clears my head when I need it.

            He helped me realize where the bullshit is and isn’t and he lit the fire within me to squash the bullshit out entirely. This is about my family, he made me realize, which means that no one else really needs to be in my house and if we can make it work with one or two under the radar, that may be okay, but that it is black and white on the lease and that is what really matters to these people. So, I went home and I put my foot down. We got things moving with a few agreements on who would leave the house, who would at the very least do everything in his power to find another place, and who would be okay to stay under the radar because they can essentially be stuck in the attic for inspections. We began to move towards righting everything for the follow-up interior inspection, which is scheduled to happen three days from now.

            Pettit, or at least the owner of the house we rent, has decided not to give us the chance to make things right again. They’ve decided that the unexpected recent activity is simply too much and rather than give us time to redeem ourselves, they want to seek a mutual severance of tenancy. The reasons they’ve listed are complete bullshit, we know it, but we aren’t interested in fighting because we have, technically, violated our lease. As such, however, I insist that we do not leave on anything less than our own terms.

            I’ve contacted the Housing Authority, who put me in contact with the Northwest Justice Project, who deals with landlord/tenant laws and ought to be able to help me with these issues. I want the house to be inspected this week and I want, on paper, how much the place is worth to rent, so that I can take it to Pettit and show them how we’ve been overpaying and therefore will not pay them another dime if they are forcing us to leave early.

            I want to negotiate a mutual severance that allows us two months of income so that we can move as comfortably as possible, especially considering we are going to Colorado Springs.

            Yeah. Colorado. We almost moved there, once, but had to come back because of debts. The debts are taken care of, now, and the only thing left is my court case, which will be settled no later than May 3^rd. Everything is in constant chaos in my house.

            It is time to start packing. Today is Tuesday and the follow-up inspection is Friday. We need to have everything in order by Thursday so that we can negotiate with Pettit as much as possible. I’m waiting for a call-back from the Justice Project. It’s all very stressful. But I finally feel as if I have my head roundly on my shoulders, quite soundly. I feel level-headed and prepared. I feel as if I can now move forward and get a real fresh start. I’ve never lived in Colorado, only visited. Colorado Springs has no one I know except perhaps a former co-worker or two. There is hope where there is sun and Colorado has much more sun than Washington.

            I know this is all very sudden for anyone close to me who reads this. It is for us, too. It’s all quite unexpected and fast. And it isn’t done, yet…

Efforts in Futility

Nothing hurts me more than disrespect from someone who has asked for my help and accepted my extended hand. Nothing disappoints me more than someone who has requested help yet refuses to help themselves.

            My hand extends to every person who deserves it. I do not always know who deserves it and who doesn’t, and so my default reaction to a request for help is to respond in as helpful a way as I know how. Sometimes, my response is to ignore the request either because I do not have the resources, or because my resources are limited and I must care for myself, my family, and my household first.

            My assistance is not free, but I do not charge money for the service I provide. I charge resources. Guests—extended guests, more specifically—and couch surfers are charged in the form of food and other items consumed. Usually, these people also pay us back monetarily, but this is not required except by those who board here.

            We have four boarders and one applicant to our lease and things in the house tend to run smoothly. Two of these boarders will be moving out in the very near future, but we refused to let them get into paying rent at another hotel because it is unsustainable in every sense of the word. These people are our friends. We do not invite strangers into our home. Ours is a family home, first and foremost and always. Even when Persephone is gone, this remains a family home, no matter what amazing acts of sexual exploration occur.

            Recently, we paid for one of my friends to fly from her location to our state. We picked her up at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport baggage claim carousel. We brought her into our home, explaining in the car on the way that our primary expectation was for her to listen to us and do what we say as well as keep to her own word and do what she says she will. She agreed on all fronts. She met Stacie, our boarders, and our new swinging partners. She is a male-to-female transgendered individual with severe psychological issues, so, I promised to get her to the Department of State and Health Services and the Social Security Administration in order to get her started with food stamps and Medicaid. She failed to get her food card because she failed to tell the truth of her homelessness—after all, she was to board at my house and give back by cleaning. We were providing literally everything for her. So, she didn’t get her card, but she ravaged our food supplies and ate foods that had been planned for meals.

            There’s more. She disrespected every single person in my home. She disrespected the space of every person in my home and she disrespected my belongings and the belongings of every person in my home, whether staying or visiting. I told her to stop touching things that don’t belong to her. She continued to move things around that weren’t hers, such as my books and Pat’s bong, and she would take drinks that weren’t hers and drink them, such as Pat’s Rockstar and Marie’s can of coffee. She was absolutely insufferable and she did not understand the mere concept of personal space or boundaries. We told her multiple times to give us space and not to touch us, yet she continued to hover over people, stare at people uncomfortably, and invade their space by standing mere inches from them and touching or leaning on their shoulders.

            I went so far as to write a contract for her as a boarder in my home. I itemized basic respect and consideration, yet she spat on it. She basically said, without speaking, “Fuck you and everything you are trying to do for me.” After all, we took her to DSHS and the Social Security office. We took her to Goodwill and Value Village, because we do not have the incomes we had recently, and we purchased ladies’ clothes for her so that she would feel more comfortable in her own body and feel as though she was moving forward in her life. I gave her space in my study to keep her things and to sleep, yet she disrespected the space by spreading her belongings all over the place, taking over space on my desk and taking my books off of my shelves and failing to put them away properly.

            Four days. That was all. She didn’t last a day past the fourth, as she broke her contract the moment she signed it and did so repeatedly—lashing out for attention like a neglected two-year-old. She is 28. She made everyone so uncomfortable that every single person who had any means or future means of income was offering to pay to get her out of our house. Randy purchased a Greyhound ticket for her to go back to her home in Tennessee. He spent nearly $300 on this ticket, after spending nearly $200 on her flight here from Montana, and after spending at least $100 on clothes, food, weed, and drinks for her. That’s a conservative estimate.

            She checked in at the Greyhound station, then ripped up her tickets and ditched the station in favor of a bar on 4^th Ave. We heard this from her girlfriend, who called the house phone (since Becca had been using it to call her girlfriend) and told Randy what was going on. Somehow, Randy ended up speaking to Becca’s mother, who begged Randy to ensure that Becca get on a train to Tennessee. I understand Randy having empathy for Becca’s mom, as a parent, but the fact of the matter is, at this point, we simply cannot and will not support Becca in any way any longer. She is no longer our responsibility, plain and simple. Point blank. The way I see it, there are two options, because Becca’s mother offered to reimburse Randy for the cost of a ticket. Becca’s mom can either reimburse us for the ticket we already bought, or she can buy a new ticket for Becca and Randy can track the bitch down and make sure she gets on it. Either way, we are not about to buy another ticket for her.

            I cannot believe the level of disregard she had. I did not expect it in any way. When I had spoken to her online, she had come across as level-headed and sane, for the most part. When she got here, she could not actually adjust or settle in with the group. She could not stop focusing on whatever obsession she had and when she got high, it was an exacerbated problem. So, we cut her off, but she didn’t improve…

            The effort I put into this person has been reciprocated to me by all of the people in my home. Pat, Nikki, Stacie, Leo, Kayla—everyone who has either visited or stayed in my home and witnessed what happened with Becca has been highly supportive and helpful, taking all of the stress that they can off of Randy and me. My house is being cleaned right now without my or Randy lifting a finger, because we have an internal inspection tomorrow and we have a lot of people here but we are overwhelmed, personally.

            Becca was one example of many people I have attempted to help. There are other friends I’ve lost through much the same way, including Mary and Alex. I simply cannot tolerate someone asking for help and then shitting on the help that is offered, nor can I tolerate someone failing to uphold their word to help me. Now, I feel as though I am at a crossroads, in a way, though I’m not sure that’s the right euphemism. Now, I am working to help someone who is not really a friend, but who has reached out to me for help due to a mutual friend.

            This person believes people hate her when they do not. Her anxiety and depression push people away and she recognizes it yet fails continuously to take action to correct it. That’s okay, except that she simply ignores advice that is given to her—or, she has, so far. The one time she took my advice, things went well. We went out and had a social outing at a café, where we got coffee and tea and played chess. It was a good time and I told her how good it was. Now, I’m telling her that she needs to take care of herself and she’s telling me she doesn’t know how, but when I tell her what she can do to help herself, she makes excuses for why she can’t do it.

            She says her excuses are legitimate reasons, but the fact of the matter is that she is allowing her depression to run her life completely. I’m telling her what she can do and she is not doing it, she’s claiming that she is “trying.” And so I said as Yoda said.

            “Do or do not. There is no try.” And I said what Gizmo says. “Trying is dying.”

            I am tired. Those who energize me are the ones I keep because I am sick of putting effort into futile endeavors. It was an effort in futility and it had a pretty steep cost to help Becca. I do not want to think it is an effort in futility to help this severely depressed woman in Tacoma, but frankly, I’m seeing all the same red flags. I cannot help those who cannot or will not help themselves. It is that simple.