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…

Finding the Ground

Roots. They grip the ground. They keep plants in one place and provide nutrients and everything needed for the plant. In order to have roots, you have to have ground, and moving seriously uproots me, sends me into the air. I feel like I’m tumbling through the air, trying to land and figure things out again. We moved into our house at the end of August, this year. It took me until yesterday, December 16^th, to unpack my box of trophies and trinkets that have always resided in my bedroom. Now they reside in my study. It’s awesome. I have my bowling trophies on the windowsill, I have the engraved plate my mom bought for me on the shelf above my monitor, right next to my awesome, new jester frog. My study is fucking awesome, now, and it took me until now, halfway through December to Christmas. It feels like I’m settling down as I put more boxes in the attic and find homes within my house for more of my belongings.

            Plenty has happened in the months since I last wrote. I realize now that I need to forgive myself for not writing more often. Forgive myself for taking so long to unpack and get everything set up. Frankly, though, I didn’t want to write blog posts from the living room, anymore. I don’t like moving the furniture on the carpet because the carpet is really thick and even the chairs, as light as they are, don’t move very easily if I try sliding them. The apartment floor was much better for it. I’m so glad to have my study set up so I can blog not only with a monitor and a computer chair where I can see everything on my screen clearly, but also so that I have a secluded space in the house that is my own, where I can get away from everyone or select my company. There is only one chair, and it is mine. No one else sits in it. I plan to make my altar next to the window in this room. This is my space. The only things in here that aren’t mine are two of Randy’s books on Tao, because this is basically the book place of the house and they look good on my shelf.

            My trash container is a party cup. Literally a black Solo cup that sits on my desk and holds a few small things and is nice and discreet. I don’t have to change trash bags or cart things in and out of the room. I can take the cup out, toss it, and grab a new cup to bring in for trash. It’s wonderful. I bought new speakers, a new monitor, a new tablet—everything is fucking great. I can’t wait to actually start using the tablet, but I’ve been really absorbed in the Sims 4, lately.

            Two friends are staying in my art room until they get on their feet and can get their own place(s). I have yet to hang my dragon posters because I want to swap the locations of the hutch and what Randy thinks is a carrion cabinet. If it is a carrion cabinet, it’s very simple and has a large opening and single shelf in the large area for maybe a TV and cable box, I would imagine. Either way, I want to switch the walls on which these pieces of furniture currently sit, and put Persephone’s TV in the “carrion cabinet” and the hutch against the wall next to the front door. My battle dragon can hang over the hutch and the cliff dragon can hang over where Persephone should put her riding cars away, next to the fireplace. I plan to hang my other purchased paintings along the walls in the stairwell to the art room.

            Today, I read some articles. One was about the effects of alcohol on babies while breastfeeding. The other was about Mick Jagger having a new baby at the age of 74, with a woman by the age of 30. The breastfeeding and drinking article started out by saying that imbibing in a few drinks during the holidays will not necessarily result in anything negative with the nursing baby. It then went on to say that mothers should be conscious and aware of how much they are drinking, however, as getting drunk while breastfeeding is generally frowned upon for many reasons that have nothing to do with how much alcohol gets into the breast milk. As far as Mick Jagger having another baby… Well, that’s for another blog post, but my point here is that I’ve managed to pull away from the Sims long enough to get my brain working and creating ideas based on my experiences as they relate to what I’m reading. It is also immensely helpful to have the two friends I have staying with me. They provide socialization and while I have gone through more marijuana over the past month than I have in practically the past two years, it has been a pleasure to have them because I have started to find myself again. One friend, I’ve known for the past six years, since the end of high school but prior to the start of the military, pays attention to things far more than I’m used to people paying attention, particularly about personality traits and the like. He has helped me recognize, again, who I am. Who I have been. He’s helped me put some of the pieces together.

The Other Side of the Planet

                For the past (nearly) three years, I’ve lived in Germany, working with and for Americans yet alongside Germans. The extremely limited amount of German I learned in high school prior to being stationed in Germany helped in the beginning, but didn’t have much chance to expand a whole lot during my stay, as I was surrounded almost constantly by Americans, many of whom couldn’t care less about learning the native language and conversing with the local nationals.

                This past Saturday, 28 June 2014, I flew from Frankfurt, Germany, to Seattle, Washington. I extremely underestimated the kind of culture shock I would experience in returning to America. Everything is so spaced out, so vast, in this country, compared to Europe—and yet, Europe is by far a prettier country than the United States. Where I would see brown, dead grass—where it has clearly been landscaped and the grass should be green—in the US, I know that if I saw such a thing in Europe, that grass would be green. It’s true that the grass is greener in Europe than the USA.

                I live currently with my grandparents…again. I didn’t want to come back. I wanted to serve a full career with the U.S. Air Force, a whole 20 years, and then retire and do something else. I had big plans and big dreams. My time in Germany served to crush every plan and dream I had—not because of the country or the area; as a matter of fact, it was wonderful to be in Europe—but rather because of the kind of people with whom I had to work. I didn’t want to separate from the military…but I found out I’m pregnant.

                My grandma asked me just the other night why it was that I separated early rather than sticking it out to the end of my enlistment. At the time that I discovered I was pregnant, I thought my husband would be placed before the Medical Evaluation Board for medical retirement from the military. It was coming up on the time that we would be PCSing—moving to a new base—and an MEB could take up to a year to complete. I was afraid that if I didn’t separate, or at least transfer out of active duty into the guard or reserve, that I would PCS without my husband and end up in a new place with a brand-new baby. If that happened, I would have had to find childcare for my new baby while I went to work, and this was absolutely not something I wanted to do! I don’t trust people and I sure as hell wouldn’t trust the Child Development Center on base to take care of her! So, I made the decision to separate. I figured I should have enough time then that if Randy goes before the MEB, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I would become his dependent and all would be well.

                Randy’s MEB was turned down. Suddenly, he was going to have an administrative discharge instead of a medical retirement. It was still honorable, but it didn’t provide benefits post-separation. His separation date ended up being effective the day before we were to fly out of Germany—the 27^th of June, when our flights were supposedly scheduled for the 28^th.

                My flight had no issues. I flew with both of our cats, arrived safely, met up with my dad and grandma (and baby brother), and proceeded to my grandparents’ house—only to find out that Randy had been stuck at Frankfurt overnight because SATO, the place on base that schedules the flights, completely fucked him over! They had scheduled his flight for the 27^th, like a bunch of idiots, when we had specifically asked for the 28^th multiple times!

                He made it safely in Indiana…luckily. His mother insisted on keeping him for two goddamned weeks, while I’m in Washington having to hurry up and figure a whole bunch of stuff out. My husband gets to meet up with his friends and have a good old time while I’m trying to get shit done in Washington. I can’t really complain about his mother—she’s doing wonderful things for us, buying us things we’ll need for the baby. It’s just that I want him here sooner than July 11^th and I don’t see why she couldn’t have had him for one week and been happy with it. The only friend I’ve managed to spend time with since I’ve been here is Mary, my best friend. I feel like I have other people who want to see me, whom I haven’t been able to see yet.

                Some good news is, today, I managed to finish my first list of reviews for porn websites. It might not be the most honorable job—at least, it isn’t if you’re some kind of stuck-up prick who’s too good to look at porn—but it will ultimately pay me $245.00. The list I finished today will get me $50 of that and then I’ll have a new list of sites to review. I haven’t gotten back to work with my other client, yet, but I did message him to say that I want to begin work on the company review he wants, come this Friday.

                My cats were traumatized for the first couple of days after getting to the house. I have them in my little brother’s old room—it used to be mine, before I left and my grandma switched all the furniture. The beds are gone, now, and I put in a couple of litter boxes with food, water, a couple toys, and a scratcher. The cats mostly hide in the closet, but they’ve reached the point that when I go into the room to visit them, they come out and give me love. It fills me with a warm and fuzzy kind of joy when they come out for me and start purring, rubbing their adorable faces against my legs and hands and chasing the laser I point around for them. I’ve discovered that Ajani, my male cat, is a catnip addict. I bought a little thing of catnip spray and I use it on the scratcher when I visit the cats, so that they know that’s a good thing to scratch. Ajani goes nuts and smashes his face against the thing, scratches the hell out of it, and even licks it, getting himself high as a kite! Liliana is a little less affected, but she enjoys it as well. I can’t wait to have my own place with Randy, our cats, and our baby—as I don’t expect to move out from my grandparents’ house until after the baby is born.

                It’s weird, extremely surreal, being in the United States again.