Pardon me while I ease myself in.
Last I wrote, I was getting ready to move on short notice, for me – I fundamentally do not understand people who can pick up their lives and move far away at the drop of a hat! I like to take a good 6 months to contemplate moving, and to sloooooowly plan how the packing will go, and I like to CHOOSE to move. In a perfect world…
I spent a lot of the winter freaking out and having anxiety, and losing a bit of my hair due to stress, but I got through the move. I got through the move while dealing with random car troubles, and trying to avoid Landlord Meaney as much as possible. I found another small, lovely apartment in North Buffalo, well below market value.
I was able to fend off Landlord Meaney’s attempts to mess with me while I was moving. I countered all of her considerable bullshit with facts – yes, I checked the city’s website, and I CAN leave a couch on the curb for trash pick-up. No, you CANNOT charge me $200 to repaint an apartment that you should be repainting anyway. I wanted to scream in her face, but I held off and stayed reasonable, even when she was finally handing me my full security deposit and blathering on that she was sorry about everything, I seemed like a good tenant, blah blah blah.
Once I moved and started to feel better about life, my poor Brian died. I spent most of the fall being worried about him, because he had more dental work, and then he was just constantly battling colds and dehydration, and maybe the move was too much, or maybe it was his time. So I said goodbye to him on a Saturday in February. And I buried him in my mother’s backyard, where he loved to climb the trees and eat the grass.
Now. I had a doozy of a winter. But even while I was stressing and crying and grieving both my beloved cat and my old, beloved apartment, I was so grateful for all of the love that I was getting. Multiple Secret Santas popped up during my move, to lift my spirits and make me cry with happiness. I was getting offers of help from all quarters, even though I’m horrible about asking for help. And when Brian died, I couldn’t believe how many people reached out to say that they’d miss the Facebook and Instagram posts about him – not just “Sorry for your loss,” but “Damn, he was entertaining, and I loved hearing about him!”
I miss Brian very much; I also recognize that Floyd gets way too clingy when he’s an only cat, so I took in a new cat earlier than I normally would have. Her name is Charlotte, and she is young and sassy and fluffy and lovely, and she loves Floyd and seems to like me. She likes to hide, and we’re working through some fear issues she has, but she is getting braver and more used to me. Last weekend, she had her first full visit to mom’s house, including mom’s backyard, and she found some hiding places that work for her, and she had some definite fun, and she aggressively kneaded my mom and mom’s bed.
|Charlotte Fluffy Pantaloons|
|taking it in|
As for my apartment, it is finished and very much me, full of books and movies and candles and all of my pretty things. Some would call it cluttered, but I love it. And since my old couch would never fit through the door, I found a new, gorgeous purple futon. My landlords live upstairs and are great, and I don’t seem to have any problem neighbors.
In fact, emotionally, I don’t know what to do with myself. Work is great, my car is doing OK, and my living situation is quiet and calm. My friends and family remain awesome. More than one person has asked me what I’ll rant about now that I’m not dealing with horrible bosses, roommates, and neighbors. For several years, there was always at least one thing, one large area of my life, that didn’t seem to be working correctly, and I guess my default setting was to be constantly on watch for the next round of fuckery. And now I’m trying to convince my brain that it doesn’t need to be on high alert all the time. Being in a constant state of “I dare you to start with me” can you make you kind of perma-tense, but now that I can finally relax fully, I guess I need to learn how.
Until then, I can always rant about politics.