discoveries

1. As much as a Texan can justifiably mock Pacific Northwesterners for saying 80 degrees is "sooo warm, omg!" Seattle can be really hot. Like, nearly Texas hot, only sans AC. (No fair.)

2. I have the ability to move from one apartment to another all by myself. Heavy, craigslist-bought IKEA bed and all! (God bless freight elevators.)

3. Mixing double espresso drinks and wine does not bode well when attempting to assemble a very confusing craigslist-bought IKEA bed. With all the foreign hardware. And the heaviness. And, caffeinated drunkenness. No good. (But soo goood.)

4. Fuck bed assembly, I wanna jump around this new place. South Lake Union! No funky smell! Outta the ‘burbs! Weeeeee!

5. Decidedly, this apartment will one day be the ideal setting for a dance party, after single-handedly testing its viability as such. In my underwear. Under the influence of Vivace espresso and cheap red wine. Who wants to party?

primitive therapy

I just went camping for the first time in two years, and a trip like that was about two years overdue. It was with an old friend, and all totally low-key and not overplanned. Because all you really need when camping is a little pop-tent, some matches, and a screw-top bottle of wine.

After going on a 2-hour hike through a beautiful gorge and seeing some spectacular views of mountains and rushing rivers, we gathered firewood, set up camp, made a rather kick-ass, blazing fire, and ate our pre-purchased Subway sandwich while we shared stories, had girl talk, and laughed about religious nuts. It wasn't a completely convenience-less, roughin-it situation, but time spent away from computers and running water was nice. And breaking branches for the fire was therapeutic, minor scrapes and scratches and all. Made me feel tough. I got the bloody scabs to prove it. Arrrgh.

I could have stayed another night or two. Let's face it, it wasn't exactly nice to come home to my crappy little abode. But I am thrilled to say that I only have two more nights in this place: I am getting ready to bid farewell to this ghetto 'burban hovel. But at least there's a working shower. It'll be good to wash away a day and a half's worth of dirt, campfire soot, and tree sap caked onto my filthy body.

Let's hear it for nature.

where the wind's brought me

I truly feel like I am living one day at a time. Sure, I get worried about money, and how hard the next several weeks will be. And of course, I’m looking forward to moving in just one week, and can’t wait to get out of this place. And it’s nothing if not keeping me on my toes, with the lack of funds (the first time in my life I cannot afford to buy gum) and crazy weekend adventures.

But this is good. I’m not dwelling on anything in the past. I honestly have no idea what the next month will bring, much less the rest of the year. New friends, or another period of healthy solitude? Singledom, or live-in boyfriend? Meager salary, or seeing several patients per day and raising that monthly check higher? I am experiencing everything as it comes, adapting quickly (I think), and enjoying most of it. I feel like I will look back on this summer like I have on so many other mini-eras in my life: with appreciation, and with a little awe at how I got through it.

Transitions are hard. The settling-in process takes time. I am still learning things at work, but getting more comfortable, with the people and the procedures. I’m getting good feedback. I’m having fun. I’m spending a lot of time alone, but I don’t necessarily feel lonely.

Things are still changing, still bearable, albeit a bit roller-coaster in their presentation.

Like I said, this whole thing is keeping me on my toes.

Maybe my love for Washington will continue to grow. Maybe I’ll start missing Texas/Quebec/some other place like crazy and want to move in a few months.

But for now, things are good.

this weekend, i...

(in no particular order)

- picked fresh raspberries and cherries on Saturday, blueberries on Sunday

- played barefoot softball

- ripped a 6-inch tear in the crotch of my jeans

- retired a pair of shoes

- went on a hayride

- ran around the side of a mountain, barefoot, in chilly drizzles on a July afternoon

- had some whiskey and a burger in a portland establishment with a great view

- got a bunch of free stuff, including:
- a collander
- a toaster
- an end-table
- a half-dozen organic eggs, fresh outta the chicken
- 5 pounds of Alaskan salmon, caught last week

Plus, I got myself a couch and a bed. I lifted heavy things a lot. My quadriceps and calves feel like achy, burning fire. (But that may have been from the slide into first.)
It was a good two days.

today

9:00 Breakfast, shower, lounge in bathrobe.

10:00 Call 8,000 different numbers to inquire about 8,000 different student loans that I am either a) supposed to have started paying four months ago or b) supposed to start paying two months from now, when c) I don't even have enough money to buy food (where I'm distinguishing "buy" from "charge").

10:25 Still sorting out how I got transferred from one banking/loan entity, who knew what I was talking about, to another, who I apparently have no account with.

10:45 Still on hold with those bastards who want my money at the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board.

11:25 Finally conclude that I am to complete economic hardship forms, since there is no way in hell I can afford to pay a total of four (FOUR!) loan entities a total of $1900 per month. (Hah!)

11:35 Succeed in warding off a massive debt-related panic attack.

12:15 BNI meeting. Don't ask.

2:00 Household chores. More phone calls. More feelings of overwhelm and loss of control about life. Wasting 3.5 hours waiting for the mail carrier to deliver an urgent package. Thanks, USPS, for the quality time I got to justify spending with Chuck Klosterman.

6:30 Trip into Seattle to fill up on lattes, do some paperwork, and continue to feel overwhelmed and helpless... but at least while in an urban setting.

9:15 Make one list entitled "Problems That Will Be Solved!" and another entitled "Things to Look Forward To." Take a deep breath.

10:30 Get home. Proceed listening to a continuous loop of a "song" by a "friend" that I am mentally and emotionally addicted to.

11:30 Feeling a little better. Trying to feel sleepy, post-latte. Recalling those "things to look forward to," to ensure that I have pleasant dreams, instead of ones featuring death of family members or overflowing toilets I've fallen into as of late.

11:35 As a result of my back telling me to go fuck myself because it's sick of the current sleeping situation, end my night by re-reading item #7 on aforementioned list: "acquire a real bed"... Good note to fall asleep on, even it's on a plastic-coated surface of air.

i almost forgot how awesome it is

... to live in a city, within walking distance to anything you could want or need. I signed the lease on my new apartment, which I can move into in 26 days. Countdown has commenced. I spent yesterday spelunking my soon-to-be new neighborhood, and timing the walks to the cafe (5 minutes), the Whole Foods (15 minutes), and Pike Place Market (21 minutes). I discovered a little pizza place right on my corner that sells fresh, made-to-order pies with organic, local ingredients, and stocks only local beers and wines. I walked all around downtown, enjoying the breezy, 80-degree summer afternoon. I met an old friend for happy hour (who I discovered lives so close I could probably wave to him from my patio). I was a very content little camper by the end of the day, for sure.

And then, I returned to my temporary hovel, with the rusty, rickety staircase leading down to my half-basement apartment, the light brown carpet with the questionable odor, the broken, undraining sink full of water I told maintenance about two days ago.

Siiiigh.

I'm normally not one to try and rush things along, but I really, really, REALLY hope July goes by quickly.

And since it's now all official and legal, I'm gonna change my Current City to Seattle, damnit. Because I am almost outta the 'burbs and into the Emerald City. So close, I can taste it. (And it tastes like Cafe Nico and fresh-caught salmon. Not mixed together.)

well that was depressing

As much of a bum-out as yesterday was, today served as a brilliant shining light, as it allowed me to see the end of the tunnel, and conclude that maybe it ain't so bad.

I don't want to jinx anything, since it's all still in the works, but suffice it to say that I feel really good about the job and near future, and have a hunch that my apartment situation will be gloriously turning itself around very soon. (Which is good, because if I stayed here for very long, I might just have to die, whether from chronic disappointment with my environment, or from a strung-out delinquent busting in through my one measly lock and killing me so he could pawn my laptop and kitchen supplies for suburban street drugs.) It also helps that I was able to get a dose of a Cafe Nico from Vivace - something I've been craving since I was last in Seattle, almost a year ago - and a mini-trip to Whole Foods.

Now, my only problem is my goddamn procrastinating slackerdom. I have to wake up in 8 hours, and I'm only a third of the way through my open-book jurisprudence exam, which I MUST postmark tomorrow, a very busy 10-hour day in the clinic. Before you roll your eyes at the 8-hours comment, let me say that it's been incredibly exhausting, these last four roller-coaster days of newness and excitement and dispair and enthusiasm and uncertainty, and this lady is tuckered the hell out and in dire need of a good, solid, coma-like doze. And before you berate me for complaining about an open book exam, well, just... shut up, why don't you? The time alotted to me to take the damn thing (20 days, Washington state law) has been chock full of moving my butt clean across the nation... replete with newness, excitement, dispair, enthusiasm, and uncertainty.

And so, I sit here on my blow-up bed and sort through pages and pages of legalese, bored as hell, with words running together and drool running down my face. Here's hoping I get her done some time before the 5am sunrise.

i should be taking a state licensure test, but...

I was feeling a bit blue. What with the exhaustion from the three day drive from TX to the Pacific NW, all the city/job/coastal newness, and the shithole of an apartment. (I may elaborate at a later date, when this will all be funny instead of miserable, but suffice it to say I am getting the hell out of this place ASAP and looking for a cheerier habitude to hang my hat. Or, blow up my air mattress, as it were.)

SO!

Although I have a jurisprudence test due in about 1.5 days, I have lifted my spirits with a heavy dose of cheap wine and finslippy. All that was missing was a viewing of Amelie, but given the post-red-wine drowsiness, that'll be another night. I think my job here is done. I'm buzzed enough to have forgotten that I am literally penniless and currently reside, however temporarily, in the ghetto corner of a Washington 'burb.

Nice work, El Gato Negro. We will meet again soon. Very soon.

life on the road

In the past two days, I've driven through six states. Some things I have seen/accomplished:

- Driven a record 32 consecutive miles without using my hands. (The rule was no touching the steering wheel with hands. Signaling and adjusting the cruise control were ok.) Turns out you can do all sorts of things while driving when both hands are freed up, including clapping to music, for a more satisfying dancing-while-driving experience.

- Practiced interlacing my toes. (It's harder than it sounds.)

- Covered over 900 miles each day, stopping only three times per day for pee* and gas-up. I am a machine. (*Turns out my bladder doesn't act like a 2-year-old's when I withhold liquids in any form... except, of course, the occasional gas station crappuccino. Those are practically obligatory.)

- Purple mountains, impossibly blue skies, rolling bright green hills, and incredible sun and cloud situations. (They weren't lying about purple mountain majesty, for reals.)

- Continued my language learning with Intermediate French CDs, a new Half Price Books purchase. Je suis fier de moi.

- Spent one night at a Bates motel look-alike. (The choice was between $42.50 and $90 for the Best Western a block away.) It looked eerily like the real thing. No lie, I was a little freaked out during shower time. I even checked the place for possible peep holes. Needless to say, I survived the night.

And now, I rest (at a less questionable overnight establishment), along with my little car. Tomorrow it's two more states, and the culmination of my trip: a peek at my never-before seen new apartment and new city.

West coast, I'll see you soon.

take the baton girl, you'd better run with it

I decided that before a very frantic and stressful and rushed cross-country move toward Seattle, I would pay a visit to the Texas of Canada. And so I spent five days immersed in (mostly) beautiful Quebec summer, folk music that I missed so dearly, and the pseudo-family and good friends I left behind almost four months ago. It was more lovely than I remember it, and completely worth it.

I spent the last couple of days tearing my hair out beause of a broken car (that busted just after I threw down over a G on it, and just 36 hours before it must drive me to a destination over 3,000 miles away) and the possibility of being homeless as of this Saturday. As in, arrive at destination: Washington, and have to sleep in my car. It all turned out in my favor, the car being mended and a home being found, mostly due to excellent friends and all-around luck. It's good in a way, to feel that pre-move frazzle. Reminds you how much you can get done under pressure. Makes you proud. And it feels even better when you discover it's all working out like a peach.

But the fun doesn't end there. The next week of my life will be jam-packed with excitement and craziness. I have just packed my Camry to the brim with everything I own from my three-month stint here in Atlanta. Tomorrow, I spend 12 hours driving to Houston. I'll have two days there to RE-pack my car, including the kitchen stuff I will require, and also will be packing some boxes to make them shipping-ready. Three days driving West, starting Thursday. And just one day to rest before I start my job. As, like, a doctor and stuff.

So, yeah, on the move again. It feels like I've made a career of moving. But so far, it hasn't been a bad thing. You gotta keep life interesting, I suppose. And this is one way to do it.

holy crap

Cashew butter is amazing. I'm in sticky delicious heaven.

i have a story

This story is about how Lauri is retarded and impatient, but not as retarded as the roads in Atlanta. It is also about how her bladder is smaller than a thimble.

I made one wrong turn on the way home from taking my cousin to the airport. Although I realized my mistake within 6 blocks, the entire ordeal took over a half-hour to reverse, though it was about 7pm, which I quickly discovered is NOT - contrary to logic - too late to be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic! Reasons for the wrong turn include the streets in Atlanta all looking the same, and none of them proceeding in any one direction for longer than 3 blocks. Instead, they loop and meander in convoluted knots, through thickly forested land, intersecting with themselves (it's true!), and twisting into an unnavigable maze. Plus, some street names are SO GOOD that they use just one for an entire neighborhood! For example, a whole region of the city exists with "Peachtree" in the name. ("Dudes... Peachtree sounds so good in front of 'Road,' let's stick it in front of 'Terrace' and 'Circle,' too! Yeah, and we should call this one here 'Peachtree Drive.' Oooh! We haven't used 'Court' yet... but we'd better identify it with a 'West' so people don't get confused...." I seriously believe that that was an actual quote by some stoned city planner decades ago who was at the time obsessed with Steve Miller Band.) Also, sometimes one street will have four different names within a half-mile. No joke. (You only thought you turned on DeKalb Industrial. Silly goose, that was a block ago! You're on Arcadia now. But only for another four seconds... after that bridge, it's Sam's Crossing. Pay attention!) It truly helps that there is a church on every corner, and they all look exactly the same! Such an exciting place to live! Really keeps you on your toes!

Ok, back to the story. I had also just (an hour before) consumed two cups of coffee, and despite making a visit to the loo right before getting into my car, was in a stupid amount of pain, that special kind of discomfort from having to pee so badly the whites of your eyes are beginning to jaundice. (Side Note: I am beginning to think that instead of having a tiny shrunken bladder, my problem is that my kidneys are secretly addicted to cocaine and filter my blood super! alarmingly! brilliantly! fast, so that my bladder has to constantly run to keep up. That seems like the more reasonable explanation.)

After these events occured, I have realized that other than being in a state of acute hunger with a puzzlingly rapid onset, as per usual, when my blood sugar drops below the "give-the-bitch-a-string-cheese-or-risk-having-your-eyes-clawed-out" status, I am also ridiculously and unforgivably impatient when I'm dying for the bathroom. No matter how good my iPod is shuffling those indie hits, or how beautiful the sky is, or how lovely the breeze feels floating through that sunroof, my rage knows no bounds at times like these.

That being said, you can imagine that it might be understandable for one to SCREAM IN THE CAR AT THE TOP OF ONE'S LUNGS when one is trapped in a bucket seat inside twelve square-feet of metal, stuck on the same block for twenty minutes with a full bladder. Because really, what else is there to do?

In sum... I have no sense of direction. Atlanta's roads are fucking impossible. And my kidneys are hooked on crack. The end!

this is how i roll

For the first time since I was 12, last week I went roller-skating. ROLLER-SKATING! And it was a freaking blast. I felt all awkward and unstable at first, but damn, I had fun.

I never knew about the roller skating culture that exists here, but found out quick that it's pretty popular with the young black crowd. It was quite entertaining to watch the participating population: picture gangsta-dressed black men doing twirls to hip-hop music, and hanging onto one another while skating in tandem. With other dudes. Very masculine-looking, early-20-something, dudes. Some people had some crazy awesome moves, and I was very impressed.

What might be even more impressive is that I went fishing over the Memorial Day weekend. (Ok, I won't kid myself. At most, it's as impressive, but probably not even that.) The reason that's a big deal is that I haven't done so since I was about 7 years old. I also caught two whole fish, big enough to eat! Which I did, later that night! All rolled in cornmeal and fried up, along with homemade hushpuppies. The reason THAT'S a big deal is because the catching part of this scenario was a first. I'm pretty sure I've never caught anything with a line connected to a pole. Which is probably why I hated fishing when I was a kid. There was too much sitting around and waiting for something to happen. It was boring. Even as an adult, between the reeling in of something squirmy biting my line, I got pretty bored of the whole experience pretty fast. And also, I had an overpowering sense of guilt for all the harm to living creatures I was involved in. I couldn't help but apologize to the tiny little fish I ended up throwing back. ("I'm sorry about your lip, little guy. And I'm sorry for making you late for something.") I apologized to the earthworm I mercilessly stabbed in three places while threading its long body on my hook. God, I'm a wuss.

So, conclusion: I am just as ADD as I was as a 7-year-old (and way more squeamish), but my fishing skills have somehow improved. Maybe the worms were just super juicy and the fish were desperate and nearly starving to death.

I ALSO rode a 4-wheeler for the first time since childhood. All in all, I've had a pretty exciting, getting-in-touch-with-my-inner-child week. One event that did not contribute to those nostalgic feelings took place on Sunday, when I shot an AK-47 at some inanimate plastic targets. What can I say? When you're in the dirty south, hanging out with native southerners who have an array of firearms, and when you've have had several beers under the Hot-lanta sun, shooting an AK-47 just sort of... follows. Like buying an over-priced popcorn at the movies. Or doing a keg-stand at a college party.

And, now I can cross off "shoot an automatic assault rifle" from my list of things to do before I die.