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Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

When I was a kid, and you wanted to find a new service–an auto repair shop, say, or a tailor–you looked in the phone book. When you wanted to know what was on TV ahead of time, you either subscribed to TV Guide or the local newspaper. When you wanted to know a fact, you asked someone nearby who maybe knew, maybe didn’t, or maybe sounded awfully convincing. Or else you went to the library and looked up the information in the encyclopedia or used the card catalog to find a book on the subject.

The internet has made a huge difference to the accessibility of knowledge.

When I was a kid, maybe two or three years old, my dad borrowed a huge monstrosity of a video camera from work for one weekend. It had to be plugged in, and you could either mount it on a tripod or laboriously carry it around on your shoulder. My first backpacking trip around Europe, I had a camera with real film inside. One of the limiting factors of how many photos I could take was how much film I could afford right then and how much photo processing I could afford later. I carried the finished but undeveloped rolls of film in my backpack all over Europe and desperately hoped no one would steal it.

The cell phone (and digital cameras, and tiny little camcorders) and the internet have made a huge difference to our ability to make, keep, and share records.

When I was a kid, my mom sent out Christmas cards every year, and every year it took forever for her to write them all. But as this was the one time every year she communicated with assorted college friends and relatives, it always seemed worth the effort. Of course, there were only a few college friends she kept in touch with, because who had the time to write even more letters? You paid by the minute for phone calls to places less than twenty miles from your house, and more the further afield you were calling. Answering machines were a big deal because not very long before, if you weren’t home, you’d have no idea if anyone had tried to reach you while you were out. 

The internet and cell phones and social media have made a huge difference to our relationship with communication.

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Photo Credit: Rachel.Adams via Compfight cc

None of this is news. But it’s interesting to see how these shifts in technology are still trickling down and affecting the world today, and how we are managing these shifts, both as a larger society and as individuals.

Ta-Nehisi Coates put it succinctly when he said, The violence is not new; it’s the cameras that are new.” We’re seeing more of a lot of ugly societal trends not because human beings became more monstrous overnight, but because now we can research things, we can record things, and we can disseminate that information with easily available and easy-to-use technology.

It’s important to remember that technology on its own is rarely good or evil. It’s how that technology is used that can be good or evil. And likewise, our behaviors in the face of how the world is changing can be helpful or harmful. Both a corrupt military and a populist revolution can use social media to ferment revolution. We can use the internet to educate ourselves or we can use it to doxx people who think differently than us. We can further the spread of both true and false information. We can help each other, and we can hate each other.

We can lose touch with empathy altogether and forget all the voices on the internet belong to real people. We can lose touch with perspective altogether and say #alllivesmatter and #notallmen. And our flaws and our mistakes are magnified and repeated; instead of reaching the people we saw in person today, the scope of our words becomes potentially global.

Today the individual has more power. And in the headiness of individual power we can forget there are ideals we share. Sometimes we have to exercise research and critical thinking in order to understand both what those ideals mean and how we are falling short. Sometimes we have to contemplate uncomfortable truths, when ideas of how we thought the world looked and who we thought we were are turned on their heads. Sometimes we have to make personal sacrifices in service to those ideals.

But it is not all dark. For every shadow that is cast, there is the opportunity to shine a light. It is hard to look without flinching at some of the worst humanity has to offer. It’s okay if you flinch. It’s okay if you’re tired, if you cry, if you feel despair that we’re in the middle of a night that will not end.

But then remember. Humanity can also offer goodness: The way a community can come together to help victims after a disaster. The way the scientific community uses the internet to work more effectively. The person on the plane that let my friend rest her sprained ankle on his lap so she could keep it elevated. The person who uses the internet to reach out to someone who is having a hard time. The person who swallows hard after an offensive joke and then says, “Actually, that isn’t funny.” 

Our essential natures have not changed. We have always been monsters, yes. But some of us have also always made the choice to strive for better. Right now we are seeing a lot of our monsters. It is necessary in order for change to take place. The more people become aware of problems, the more impossible monstrous realities are to ignore, the more likely they will be addressed in meaningful ways.

But we have also always been light-bringers. We’ve been willing to help others for no personal gain. We’ve chosen to do the right thing because we value integrity.

We know how to be kind.

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I am so glad to be here.

Which is not to say things are perfectly easy. The other day I had a moment, and I thought, “I wish I could just sit down with someone who really knows me.”

I have it so good with this move, and I’ve been really aware of this the entire time. I know a lot of people for someone who landed here four weeks ago. Many friends have gone out of their way to include me. I haven’t had any problem getting enough social contact to not go completely insane with isolation. If anything, my first month has been the opposite; I’ve gone to so many events. So very many.

But we don’t really know each other yet, my Seattle friends and I. We’ve never lived in close proximity. And while I have a few friends who aren’t local with whom I talk regularly, I don’t have that many, and none of them live in Seattle. Most of my long-distance friends I talk with once in a while and then get really excited when I see them in person. We’ve built our friendships in fits and starts, often at high levels of intensity and low levels of sleep, bridged by Facebook and Twitter and probably this blog. We’re friends in spite of the plainly felt fact that there is never enough time.

Now there is more time, and we will get to know each other in a different way. We will slowly fill in the gaps of our knowledge and build more memories together and fall into comfortable friend routines. When I think of a particular friend I’d like to see, I’ll have some idea of what that person would like to do, instead of now when I’m often at something of a loss, which means I hesitate to issue invitations. I will get more one-on-one (or one-on-two) time with people, which is what I like best. (There is nothing like a full calendar of large group events to remind me how much I need this.) And some months from now, the landscape of my life will have shifted.

I remind myself of this. There will come a time when I can sit down with someone who really knows me. Here, in my new home. But that shift can’t be forced. It will happen when it happens.

In the meantime, I continue to make a home. I’m mostly unpacked. A friend is going to fix the computer table I’ve had since I was ten in the next month or so (it got smashed in the move). I have a new monitor I need to hook up. I need to hang up art. I need to go buy a new writing chair. And I have a special new addition to the apartment coming soon that I can’t wait to share once it’s here.

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On the whole everyone here is treating me so well. I have my boundaries up and ready to go, but it’s such a sweet relief to not have them being constantly battered against. It actually shocks me what a relief it is because I didn’t expect the contrast to be quite this striking. There have been a few small boundary issues, but only a few, and each time I’ve been able to respond immediately and pro-actively, advocating for my own well-being. Having a prolonged onslaught against my boundaries last fall and winter burned me out really badly, but now, here, I finally feel like I can come up for air.

Yes, I am so very glad to be here. I am so glad to be starting something new.

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It’s a weird time to be writing a personal blog.

When I sit down to write these posts, I think about everything going on in the news: the black men killed by police, the shooting in Texas, the shooting in Florida, Brexit, the coup in Turkey, the American presidential election season, the shooting in Munich, the terrorist attack in Nice, and on. And on. And on.

I don’t think I’ve ever lived through times like these, I tell my friend on the phone. And she says some of her friends have compared what’s going on now to the 1950s and 60s with McCarthyism and the Civil Rights Movement. I don’t know how apt a comparison that is, but yes, it is well before my time.

And then I write a list on my blog about Seattle, and it does pretty decently as posts go, and another friend tells me after looking at so much bad and stressful news on his feed, he clicks on my post because it’s a relief to take a break from all that.

It’s weird because I’m very aware my life is the tiniest piece possible in a world that is quaking and breaking and changing and questioning in a hugely dramatic fashion.

Also when reading the presidential campaign news, I realize I’m much less of an idealist than I thought. You know what I’m not an idealist about? Money, politics, taxes, health care, and dysfunctional families. I’ve been playing the “choose the lesser evil, keep things afloat however possible” game in my personal life since I was eleven. I am very practiced in not getting what I want, in having to think about the longer term, and in exercising damage control. The very fact I believe change is possible makes me an idealist by some definitions, but I don’t think change is fast or easy or without scores of compromises you make along the way. But I also know how exhausting pragmatism can be over time. Of course, some of us can afford to discard prgamatism more than others.

So here I am writing a personal blog during Interesting Times, a pragmatic idealist (or practical free spirit!) and I am reminded of the small stories set against a larger backdrop in science fiction and fantasy. I’m talking about My Real Children by Jo Walton, or Life after Life after Life, by Kate Atkinson, or Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro, or The Last Policeman by Ben Winters or The Mad Scientist’s Daughter, by Cassandra Rose Clarke. These and the many other books like them are all intimate stories about individuals who don’t make a huge impact on the world around them. These are not Chosen Ones or heroes and anti-heroes whose actions save or ruin the entire world. They are smaller stories, quieter stories, stories of personal revelation, stories of one person searching for meaning in their more or less ordinary lives. Lives that are nonetheless affected and influenced by the worlds these characters inhabit.

And this is how a personal blog can fit into these times we are living in right now. I am often going to choose not to write about politics, not to write about all the wider tragedies we find ourselves facing. Alas, my strength as a writer is not in debate, nor is it in abruptly shaking people awake.

No, I mostly write the smaller stories. Here in this place I write my small story.  It is not the most important story, but it is what I have to tell. It is personal, but the context also matters. I look at the news, and I am heartbroken again and again. I am cognizant of the chaos that’s going on around me. I feel the injustice and the widespread fear down to my bones.

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Here is a photo of Nala looking particularly goofy. In case you need that today.

We live in Interesting Times, my friends. This blog is a drop in the ocean of the world. But I like to believe sometimes this blog may cause you to think about something in a new way. I do hope the small stories it tells can sometimes lift up, inspire, and soothe. Or at the very least, that me writing here can provide a small respite from the larger stories with which we must wrestle and agonize.

Perhaps it can serve as a reminder that we are all here, and we are all human, and that in spite of all the tragedy and all the deep rifts between us, there are also some things about us that are the same.

I am still enough of an idealist to believe empathy matters.

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I had a particularly difficult night of insomnia last night, so I present to you: Amy’s Impressions of Seattle, as told through the filter of sleep deprivation.

  1. Everyone is really polite here. Especially drivers.
  2. The average road speed is much slower. I am often on roads that don’t have that many cars on them when it is not the middle of the night. I find this strange.
  3. Compared to the Bay Area, pretty much everything is cheaper here except for food. Maybe also movies and concerts? I don’t know, I haven’t been to any yet.
  4. When you haven’t gotten enough sleep, things seem harder and darker than they really are.
  5. I haven’t found my favorite sushi place yet, but I do not consider this to be a hardship.
  6. I gave away enough board games that my remaining games fit onto three shelves. I like to look at them.
  7. I now own seven throw blankets. Winter is coming.
  8. Nala is still not entirely convinced. But I like how many dogs seem to live here.
  9. My allergies are terrible here, and it is July. I think of springtime with a small shudder.
  10. There are so many writers here. SO MANY.
  11. They don’t charge for grocery bags here, so no one brings their reusable bags into stores. It feels strangely backwards to me, and it also takes me more trips to bring my groceries into the apartment. I think I might start using my reusable bags anyway.
  12. I can drive ten minutes to dinner and then walk down to the lake right afterwards. This blows my mind.
  13. Moving is expensive.
  14. My complex has an indoor hot tub. It is a great reason to live here.
  15. The lightrail is amazing. It is fast, efficient, cost-effective, temperature-controlled, and weirdly clean. Its only drawback is the limited number of stops.
  16. People smoke here. Where I can see them.
  17. If you spend a nice day indoors, people will act surprised. People here love being outside. They love being outside regardless of the weather.
  18. I learned what glamping is, and I am afraid kayaking will be hard but everyone does it here, and if I learn to kayak I can see otters.
  19. I know there must be bad traffic here because everyone tells me there is, but I keep not finding it. Meanwhile, people persist in believing that a 20-minute drive is far. It is baffling but not without its charms.
  20. I see something beautiful every day without trying.
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My new home.

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  1. You write in an effervescent, breathless style that makes you think of tiny, tiny bubbles in champagne that tickles your nose. You know it tickles your nose because hundreds of writers have insisted this is so.
  2. You must repeat words. Especially adjectives. Especially simple yet descriptive adjectives like fresh and soft and tiny and smooth.
  3. Also fragments and short sentences. As many as you have the stomach for. A firm, taut stomach or a poochy, loveable stomach. Any kind of stomach. The type of stomach does not matter.
  4. Lists shine like chronicles of diamond brilliance. Everyone loves lists because NUMBERS and PERIODS. Even if you actually have no structure whatsoever, a list will make it seem like your mind works in an orderly yet quirky fashion.
  5. Irony oozes out of your articles like fresh, fresh honey. It hardens into impenetrable armor that allows you to say what you want with fewer repercussions because no one can entirely tell where the irony ends and the truth begins.
  6. Or fuck, you can also just swear a whole fucking lot so you sound like you have a goddamned edge, like maybe you’re a little angry but also you’re just so fucking cool that everyone should shut the fuck up and listen to what you have to say, which is good old-fashioned hard-nosed no-shit wisdom, y’know?
  7. But if you’ve already got some of the manic pixie dream girl vibe going on, then the gentle sarcasm-dripping flow of honey armour is definitely the way to go. People will love you. They will love you so much, they will share your article on Facebook without ever knowing your name. Eventually you can start the next Toast except named after a different breakfast food or maybe crème brûlée.
  8. Your irony is like a scythe if you’ve ever used a scythe. Otherwise it’s like the X-acto blade in sixth grade art class. You make long careful cuts against the grain of society’s bullshit. Long, smooth cuts. Long, incisive cuts. Long, insightful, sharp yet understanding cuts that are way healthier than the way physicians used to practice bloodletting on sick people via cupping or leaches.
  9. You can also use ridiculous metaphors and not-very-obscure historical and pop culture references that may or may not apply. Either way you will be creating sly but searing commentary. People will think you are clever.
  10. It also helps if you include a refined and artful graphic related in some way to the past. Here is an 18th century painting. Here is a bucolic landscape. Here is a brass lamp that is definitely more than ten years old. Even better if you can insert either a sweet sense of superiority or a relevant allusion to one of today’s societal woes.

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    Each one of these objects holds a profound yet subtle significance.

  11. Suddenly you know how to write tongue-in-cheek articles about Seattlites’ obsession with bridges, men’s urges to make a pass at you while you’re crying, Burners’ conviction that by not going to Burning Man, you are missing out on the greatest experience known to man, and the strange propensity to want others to admit you have it worse than them while simultaneously acknowledging your innate and glowing greatness.
  12. You also begin to plan the most ironic post on dating that has ever been conceived by a human mind. It will be scathing but human. Bitter but sweet. Absurd but relatable. Your single friends will read it and laugh. Your married friends will read it and polish their rings.
  13. Bubbles. Fresh. Fresh fresh bubbles. We all love bubbles and freshness and everything about this post that makes us remember that pleasant sensation of being too clever and fresh and laundered to breathe. Like a magazine ad. Like crisp ironed cotton. Like a blog post that has gone at least one list item too far.

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Birthday time!

While I was moving, I missed talking about a few big milestones: my birthday and this blog’s birthday.

My birthday first, shall we? This is the first birthday I have not had a birthday party in…oh, maybe fourteen years, give or take. But throwing myself a party while moving would have been dicey at best, and in any case, I was more in the mood for some quality one-on-one time with close friends. I had birthday sushi, and birthday cake, and birthday chai, and birthday BBQ, and birthday pie, and birthday steak, and my friend took me to see one of my favorite musicals (Andrew Lippa’s The Wild Party, for those curious). And I got jammed and sung to at my regular weekly dance venue. From all this, we can divine that I really like food. And most importantly, I got to spend time with some of my closest friends.

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Taken on my birthday in an empty apartment.

That being said, all this birthday celebrating was doubling as farewell meals, and the farewell aspect often overshadowed the birthday aspect. So it was a weird birthday. And without its usual marking, it doesn’t entirely feel like it actually happened. I find myself hesitating an instant longer than usual before being able to answer the question of how old I am, because in my head, the number hasn’t completely flipped.

Last night someone suggested I throw a housewarming party, and that there could be cake at this party. Like a stand-in birthday cake. There’s no way I can pull anything like that off until the fall, but we shall see….

Meanwhile, while I was making the drive from California to Washington, this blog turned six years old. Yes, this is the 610th post on the Practical Free Spirit, and I’ve been posting here regularly since 2010. When I began, I had no idea what this blog would become or how it would change my life.

I gave some serious thought to closing down the blog this spring. I simply wasn’t feeling it; the majority of the themes and issues I was thinking about at the time were not ones I wanted to write about, so I was left struggling to find things to write about that I felt were worthwhile. This was the first time since I started the blog that this had happened, and this combined with the conventional wisdom that blogging is dead and mostly irrelevant made me wonder whether it wasn’t time to close up shop and move on to something else.

Obviously that didn’t happen. I knew I was going to be moving, and I thought my continued blogging would help my California friends and I stay in touch. I also thought making such a big life change might potentially lead to some interesting topics to write about, in addition to some topics I already had in mind to write about in the future.

And finally, I know this blog occasionally makes a difference to someone, and that matters to me. I know people sometimes feel isolated. I know it sometimes helps when I write candidly about emotions, about trying to overcome the past, about grief, about things many of us are thinking about or experiencing but that we don’t always get to talk about. Normalizing these things is important work. It helps us process, work through feelings of loneliness and shame, and build empathy.  It helps us learn more about what it is to be human.

I’m looking forward to seeing what the future year brings, both for me and for the blog. Happy birthday to us!

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Well, my stuff came on Thursday, and it was…not good. Nala hurt herself in the morning, and she really freaked out, which it made it seem like she might be a lot more seriously injured than she actually was. (She seems totally fine now.) I hit a wall dealing with bureaucracy and customer service representatives, and there’s just been so much of that over the last few weeks, along with stuff I can’t fix and problems with no optimal solution.

And then the actual move was not what I’d call smooth. Not by a long shot. When the movers finally left, I ran after them to give them their tips, which I’d almost forgotten, and then I came back upstairs, sat on my couch, and cried for half an hour. After which I didn’t really feel any better. And then the news of the shooting in Dallas rolled in, and I couldn’t get my new microwave to work, and all the stress and strain of the last few months caught up with me in a big way.

I am so very tired.

On the plus side, at least I’m no longer sitting on the floor.

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And like the grandfather in The Princess Bride, I will now reassure you that in spite of the seemingly dark situation of our heroine, all is not lost. She does not get eaten by the eels at this time.

Instead I am trying to sleep a lot and take it easy and not push as hard on…pretty much everything.

One interesting side effect of this exhaustion is that I can’t make as much social effort as I’m used to making. As in, I am literally incapable of it right now. I have trouble reaching out, I can’t really initiate plans, I can’t ask people to dance, I’m not tracking my friends as well as I normally do, I can’t be bothered with any situation that smacks of pressure or complicated scheduling. I am just too tired and using too many of my resources to recover from moving overwhelm.

What I can try to do is receive, respond, and show up. And it is very touching how much I am being offered right now. To be honest, I really need it, and for people to be so generously offering what I need, well, it is both humbling and inspiring.

A friend of mine texted me on Saturday to ask how everything was going, and I answered with the truth, that I had been having a rough few days. And he said, well, this was a big move, and big moves are difficult and extremely tiring. And I thought to myself, “Oh yeah. They are difficult, aren’t they?” And then we talked about some of the problems I had been having, and by the end of our conversation, I felt so much better. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to make a huge difference. Validation–oh yes, this is actually challenging–is golden.

Several friends have been checking in semi-regularly to see if I’m doing okay. And then they tell me what they’re up to, which I love hearing about. One friend lent me her toolbox. Some other friends offered to lend me some furniture before the truck came. Some new dance friends have been letting me know about other dances in the area. I’m being invited to parties and events, and then friends are watching out for me at those events. People invite me to dinner, and then they are the ones to figure out where we’re going. (By the by, that advice about making specific offers and invitations to people who need support? THAT IS SUCH GOOD ADVICE. It is so much easier to just say yes or no.)

One of the best things is when someone looks me in the eye and tells me how glad they are I moved here. It makes me feel like I’ll be able to find a place for myself here.

And slowly I continue the process of turning a place into a home.

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My moving truck is supposed to arrive sometime today, so by this evening I will theoretically have a REAL BED. And also a couch! And also places to put things! And more sweaters! And trash cans!

This is very exciting for me. I can’t wait to start nesting properly. I can’t wait to have a sock drawer again! I can’t wait to turn this into a real home.

Here, have a photo of Nala sunbathing:

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Yes, it turns out there is sun in Seattle. Once in a while, at least. 😉

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I am in Washington! As I write this, I have been at my new home for about sixty hours, and so far, it has been quite a whirlwind.

Less than four hours after I picked up my apartment keys, I hopped into my car and drove across to my first Seattle party. So far I have been to two parties and am about to go to my third. I have gone to Bed Bath and Beyond, Target, Safeway, and Pet Smart. I have enjoyed the view from Lake Union. I have gone dancing. I have explored a bit of the downtown of my little city, and I have played a bunch of air hockey. I have seen several friends and met a bunch of new people, almost none of whose names I can remember. I have, most important of chores, set up the internet. I have done a load of laundry to clean up the end-of-road-trip doggie vomit mess.

Nala and I have established our new daily walking route, and it is so exciting! There are some old abandoned railway tracks right behind our building, and if you follow them a little ways, they join with a lovely gravel walking path. The area is surrounded by trees, and it is the best daily walking spot we’ve ever had. We’ve been taking longer walks than usual because it’s so pleasant.

My apartment is not quiet. The downstairs neighbors play music all the time. The neighbors who share my bedroom wall had a lovers’ quarrel at 1:30am on Saturday night. Ear plugs are my friends. My allergies are acting up because of all the pollen-producing plant life around here. I woke up in the middle of the night when my air mattress deflated and ended up breaking my fingernail below the quick while fixing it, resulting in a throbbing and bleeding finger at 3:30 in the morning. Nala is nervous. One of my dance partners threw me around in an unexpectedly rough manner, and I hurt my shoulder before I could compensate for his use of force.

I am either too hot or too cold, but very rarely completely comfortable. Everyone in Seattle hangs out outdoors at night, even though it’s cold. I sleep with my electric blanket turned on, even though it’s July. I wish I had packed more sweaters. But then sometimes the sun comes out and because of all the layers from the time it was cold, it becomes suddenly sweltering.

Everywhere I look there is beauty.

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I feel like I am living in a picture book my mom used to read me every year the night before the first day of school. “Will you be my friend?” I don’t know who I’m going to see once in a while, and who I’m going to see all the time, and who I’m mostly going to see at parties, and who I’m going to see one-on-one. I don’t know who to ask to watch Babylon 5 with me, and I don’t know who would want to go to the theater with me, and I don’t know if I know any live music fans. I do know that I will be able to play board games to my heart’s content and then some.

I know a lot of people here, and everyone so far has been so thoughtful and helpful and wonderful. And I see my friends, and I think, with a small jolt of surprise, oh my goodness, I really like you! This shouldn’t be a surprise, since this is one of the reasons I moved here, but nevertheless, it feels like an unexpected gift. I’ve spent the last few months managing my expectations like a pro.

I take comfort in the things that are the same. Nala is my touchstone. I listen to familiar albums in the car. I have a friend I message almost every day, and we still message almost every day. I still love pie, and otters, and Disneyland. The “i” key on my laptop still pops off all the time in a really annoying way.

Last night I dreamed it was Valentine’s Day, and I was feeling sad, and then my friends threw a spectacular surprise party for me, and I was so happy to see everyone. And then I woke up, and I thought to myself, yes, of course. It feels like you are all right here with me.

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You burn your arm on the oven when you’re taking out the pizza. The burn turns into a weird blister. You put a band-aid on it and don’t look at it again because you don’t have time to have a burn on your arm right now.

You also have a mysterious bruise on your shoulder, sore arms, a sore neck, a sore back, sore legs, and you’re wearing your ankle brace all the time again because you don’t trust yourself to walk properly and not hurt yourself.

You have driven past your street or driveway by accident at least four times in the past week. Maybe more.

You struggle not to lose your patience with customer service representatives who take a ridiculous amount of time to do something that should take two minutes. You throw things away you never would have considered throwing away even a few months ago. You try to convince people to take random stuff because you know that otherwise it will go into the landfill, and it all feels like a huge waste.

You play and play and play your piano. And then you can’t bring yourself to play even though this is your last chance because it’s just too fraught.

You cry when you think about selling your piano. You cry when you get a voicemail from your friend saying he thought maybe you could use hearing a friendly voice, because you could use it and then some. You don’t cry when they carry your beautiful table away because by this point you are somewhat numb.

You do cry after you get off the phone with the emergency vet tech, who tells you, yes, you  need to bring your little dog in right away because the crack in her fang could be serious and there are no appointments available on the weekend so Friday night it is. If there is anything that can break you, it is your little dog’s health. You stand there and cry for five minutes, and you wish you had housemates or a boyfriend or family nearby, and then you coax the dog into the car and do what needs to be done, and now there are antibiotics twice every day, which isn’t so bad but is one more thing to remember.

Speaking of dogs, your dog is unhappy. She barks at the ceiling fan. She barks at the people who come over to get stuff. She barks more frantically than usual when she realizes you’re leaving. You tell her every day she’s coming with you, but she doesn’t speak English so communication is problematic.

Communication is difficult even when you speak the same language. You send endless messages to people. It’s all scheduling and logistics, and while you are okay, even good, at these things, you kind of hate them. You stare at your phone waiting for people to get back to you. They mostly get back to you after you’ve pretty much given up on it happening. It must be like water not boiling until you look away.

You spend one miserable night lying there unable to sleep, which means you have way too many hours to think about every detail of the move. Now you take melatonin every night before bed. It seems to help.

People have a lot of opinions, and you disappoint some of them, and you are too tired to care. The weather in Seattle is bad. The weather in Seattle isn’t so bad. What, you’ll move again if you don’t like it? What are you thinking? Why did you get an apartment in Bellevue? You should throw a goodbye party in your copious (read nonexistent) spare time. You should put your stuff up for sale on Craigslist. You say no a lot because there simply isn’t any wiggle room. You have the time you have, and it is extremely limited in quantity. At this point, if the other person in any given equation doesn’t make a lot of effort, it’s not going to happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You receive your first few invitations for Seattle, and you think, hmm, I’m not going to know anybody there. And then you think, wait, this is going to be the next several months of my life. And you get ready to steel yourself. In the meantime, you get to see a few of your closest friends more often than usual, and it is lovely, and you almost wish you could always be on the cusp of moving so you could always spend this much time with them.

You drink sparkling cider and you eat cranberry sauce from the can. More and more of your stuff is in boxes. You can tell how much you care about an object by how much paper you use to pack it.

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