Daily Post 136: My Very Own Place


I have been a complete and total fucking bawce for the past two weeks. Normally I would feel bad about  having a curse word in my first sentence. I mean… that’s kind of a trashy intro… But, this is me not caring because, at least for the moment, I’ve taken Life in hand and beat it into submission and things are finally mostly stable and / or working out.


I made it through the fourth. I did pretty well that  day I think. It didn’t start to hurt or feel lonely until the evening. I ended up going to a lake and listening to music while I watched the sun set. It was the same lake I went to on the second month of mom’s death.


On the second fourth I wrote a blog post, crying over my keyboard as I sat in a hotel room that I purposefully left too cold because what was the point of turning it up? Mom was dead. Nothing mattered, not even the cold. The cold didn’t hurt as much, couldn’t even come close to the pain I felt in my chest at having to accept the fact that it was two months.


At the time the most painful thing was the thought of going outside, of having to be around people, of having to actually bare the weight of mom not being here. I wrote through all of the emotions I had. I cried through most of it. By the time I got to the end of my writing I had decided I would get up. I would shower. I would go outside even though it would be painful and I would most likely cry more.


I would do those things because I had promised mom that even though she had died that I wouldn’t stay in bed all day. I would eat at least one meal. I would take care of myself, if only barely because I knew I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going because even though she knew it would be hard for me, mom wanted me to keep going.


That day, the second fourth, I went to the lake. I’m pretty sure I ran. A shitty run, but a run, which was more than I had thought I could do given the day.


This fourth, the sixth fourth, I didn’t run. I didn’t want to. I sat and I cried silent tears as I listened to music and watched the clouds change colors and when I was done I went back to the extended stay. I made it through the day without losing sight of who I am and without feeling like surviving  would be the most impossible task in my life. It was a somber day, a gray day, and I’m ok with that. It was a stone in the structure of who I am. A defining moment. One year will be a defining moment. Twenty seven years will be a defining moment. Maybe when I turn mom’s age. I can see that being significant to me as well. 


I marked my sixth fourth as somber, yes, but also as positive in my book.


I survived.


Not only had I survived, I had been productive.


On the fourth I applied for a townhome I found online and even got to tour it. The realtor was extremely nice and said he could work with my situation. I didn’t sit inside all day. I worked on moving forward with my life and found an avenue that was exceedingly promising. One which I wouldn’t need a cosigner for.


I found out on the fifth that I was approved.


I feel I need to write that again. Maybe in bold… and a bigger font…


I was approved for my own townhome.


The day after the six-month mark of my mom’s death I was able to, finally, sleep in my own room.


It was extremely symbolic for me. It made me feel like I’m actually doing something right with my life. It felt like a turning point. I’m figuring things out. I’m starting to stand up again, on my own.


I packed up most of the things in the extended stay and began moving into my new place that night. The sixth was a lot of back and forth to my storage unit. I didn’t have anyone to help with the furniture, but I got most of my boxes, which was nice.


The seventh was when Matthew threatened.


Right Brain: Hooray! We have a home!

Left Brain: Hooray… We’re getting hit by a cat 4 hurricane…


My area didn’t get much of anything. No damage, no loss of power. Having been through hurricane Floyd in South Carolina way back in the day I was actually pretty unimpressed with the weather. It wasn’t nearly as scary as that had been. As I said, though, we got really lucky. I know other areas weren’t as fortunate.


Because of the hurricane I wasn’t able to do much over the next few days and I sort of resigned myself to not being able to do much until Monday.


Sunday I did go to combat practice, which was  fun. I got to do some sword drills and see everyone again. Since I hadn’t been to a practice in so long there was anxiety over going back. I’m glad I did, though. It was great.


Oh, before I forget… I did hear back about the potential job. That was on the fourth as well. I didn’t get the job since they need someone proficient in 3DS Max and I’m proficient in Maya, but the guy loved my work and I guess my D&D themed resume completely made his day. It’s always nice to know your work is appreciated and to have positive feedback. So even though it didn’t work out, I had good feelings over the experience.


I can still impress people with my skills. I can still play “The Game” if I really wanted to.


So… That leads to this past week…


I suppose I should mention that Warren #1 will be moving in with me.  He’s currently still in South Carolina and most  likely won’t be here until November 8th-ish. He hasn’t  ironed out a few details, but he is moving in, sooner rather than later. I know I’ve mentioned him before. I’m not sure if I’ve ever written out the full story. It seems so long ago, and I guess in the over arcing story of my life so far, it is.


First boyfriend. First true best friend. First one year anniversary. Warren was actually my longest relationship by far. We were together five years. We had actually started talking about engagement.


First breakup…


I’m glad we’re still friends and that we worked through the negativity of our breakup. I’m glad he’s been able to help me cope with mom’s death, and I’m glad I’ve been able to help him with the issues he’s going through. We’re going on 14 years of friendship. That’s literally half of my life.


I’m not worried about sharing space or having him live with me, and I think a lot of that has to do with knowing each other so well. We’ve agreed that the townhome is mine, so if things don’t work out, he’s the one to leave. We have separate rooms and bathrooms. We’re sharing the office space. He’s paying his share of things. He’s interested in letting me beat him up with a sword. He’s ok with me being sad. He’s interested in meal planning with me and biking. He’s interested in this being a home, for both of us. Safe. Quiet. No drama. Both of us being alone with someone who wants to be alone.


Right now I’m enjoying the fact that the townhome is empty and I’m able to adjust to being here. Decompressing. Finding my routines again. Finding me again. Through all of the noise and chaos and tidal waves Life has  given me over and over for the past six months, I’m finding me. The me who is starting to stand on my own without the leg braces of mom to hold me up.


I’m looking forward to Warren being here but I’m also enjoying the bit of space I have beforehand. And for now I guess that’s really all there is to say about it.


The landlord is ok with me painting the walls. Even offered to buy the paint since they were going to repaint everything before I moved in. Since I want to do all the painting myself, because I actually like painting which I guess is weird because everyone I’ve mentioned this to always responds with how much they hate painting, my first month is being prorated for my labor.


… Prorated rent to do something that I want to do… Yes, please?


So not only do I get to make the townhome feel like mine because I’m putting time and effort into the space, but I’m able to have the colors I want for free. Currently I’m waiting on Warren to ok the color scheme I want to go with. I don’t think he’s all that concerned, but I want him to see the colors before I talk to the landlord that way on the off chance he doesn’t like something we can figure it out before buying the paint and there’s no turning back.


It would be nice to be able to start painting next week. Do a room a day or something. At least the walls. I would do the trim separately.


Aside from that I’ve bought a bunch of stuff. A bookcase, computer desk, and computer chair are the biggest things. The computer desk was on clearance at Target for 20 bucks. Pardon me while I feel thrifty.


It was nice being able to assemble things and unpack properly. I love putting things together. It helped me feel accomplished. Not only do I actually own things now, but my things are no longer hidden away in boxes in a storage unit. My things are with me, in my space, making it feel like I actually belong somewhere.


I got my computer setup. And I mean 100% set up. Not the little half setup I had at the extended stay on a crappy, tiny table. I mean both monitors, speakers, printer, external hard drive… the works. I love my beast and right now it’s completely dominating in all its unadulterated glory.


I have my art supplies and books out of boxes for the first time in what feels like forever. Once the walls are painted I’ll be able to hang my artwork and corkboard and inspirational things. That will really be the final touch on making the space feel like home. But it’s already so much better than what I’ve had for the past six months, or even what I had with Zane, since most of my things were still in storage even then, that I’m actually super content with where things are at.


It’s a work in progress, and in one week there’s been a massive amount of progress.


There was a bunch of extra coax wire all over the place from the previous tenants, and of course it was secured to the baseboards with screws. It couldn’t have been anything easy like just wrapping up the wire… no… I got to break out my power drill to take care of that mess.


Am I the only own who feels like a sexy badass using power tools for home improvement projects?


I have my bathroom set up. It’s a walk in shower. So much win.


I’m still on an air mattress until I can get the furniture out of the storage unit, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to wait on that until Warren is here. I’m tired of asking people for favors. Since I’ll be driving up to South Carolina to help him pack, then helping  him unload once we get back to Florida I’m pretty sure he won’t have an issue moving my china hutch, hope chest, mattresses, and futon. All of which are actually pretty easy to move. Especially if I rent a dolly for the china hutch which is the only thing that’s an actual pain in the ass because it’s so ridiculously heavy.


Let’s see… I got the Internet set up. And the printer, which actually wouldn’t work at first. Had to clean the heads of the cartridges, then everything was right as rain. Still not getting the mbps I should be, but the Internet is  doing better than what it was… which was 6.


6 mbps… Even Facebook was lagging. It made me want to punch things in the face.


I installed Guild Wars 2 again. That was my reward for completing my to-do list yesterday. Getting a pizza and gaming, which I did until  midnight. Got my  ranger to level 12… out of 80…


Corey is going to give me a code for the expansion so we can play together. He’s the reason I  went back to the game. He wanted some to game with… I’m not really doing much… Seemed like a good fit.


I’ve been going to boxing more regularly. I actually got new gloves since my knuckles got pretty chewed up with the wraps and gloves I got with my membership. I amused myself that day by messaging most of my guy friends saying how I got sexy new black gloves. All of them wanted to see these “sexy gloves”… so I sent them a picture of my hands in the new boxing gloves. Needless to say that wasn’t what they had been expecting. It was great. Made my day. XD


I went to Wednesday’s night combat practice. I ordered rattan earlier in the week so I could make my own swords. That came in on Friday. Since tomorrow’s practice is going to be held at a different location about two hours away I don’t think I’m going to be able to do much of anything with the rattan for about a week. Maybe I’ll luck out and one of the guys will be free one evening and will be willing to teach me. That would be super cool.


Still waiting to get my test date… That’s frustrating. Not really worried about it though since I have other things to occupy myself with.


That’s about it. That’s a lot of stuff though, and a lot of it is positive, forward moving stuff.


I can feel my metabolism picking back up with all of the boxing and combat. I actually sleep at night because I’m exhausted from being productive. And I feel accomplished at the end of the day because I’ve done meaningful things with my time, even if they are selfish things like fixing the Internet so I can avoid flipping over my new computer desk in blind rage from disconnecting during a boss fight…


Well… I think I’m going to go for now. I’ve grocery shopped today and did all of the prep work so all I need to do tomorrow is cook. This is the first week where I’ve been able to do my “weekend” routine.


Looking back on it, this past week was as perfect as perfect could be. There were challenges and struggles… and triumphs and rewards… There’s things to look forward to in my future…


I’ve made it six months. I’ve survived, and for a while that was all I was focused on. Survival. One day at a time. Sometimes one hour at a time. 


It finally feels like I’m starting to move past surviving. It feels like I’m starting to live again. It’s a good feeling. A warm feeling. Not a lot of warm, but more than there has been. It’s like a small bud blooming, and even though I know winter is  just around the corner and December is going to be whatever it ends up being, for right now, with where  I’m at, I think I’m actually able to say I’m  happy.


I love you, mom. I miss you. But I’m actually, truly, doing ok. It’s not just a phrase that I’m saying to myself, desperately hoping it isn’t a lie. For the first time since you’ve died  I feel like I can actually say that I feel happiness again. It’s not a broken or impossible thing for me to feel. It’s real. It’s there. It’s small and fragile and I’m scared that it’s not going to last, but I feel it, mom. I think about my townhome and I smile and feel warm and safe.


I felt like you should know that. I felt like I should tell you that I’m happy, and that I’m not sorry for being happy because you would be happy for me too if you were here. I know you would be proud of me. I know you would be geeking out over me getting to paint because you loved painting, too. You would be happy for me and that makes me happy, mom. Knowing that I can still make you proud makes me happy.


Thank you for still helping me. Thank you for everything. I love you.

Daily Post 135: SCA and Boxing


I didn’t go to SCA yesterday, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to explain what that actually is.


SCA = Society of Creative Anachronism


Think of it like LARPing, only cooler because it’s real.


“[SCA is an] international organization dedicated to researching and re-creating the arts, skills, and traditions of pre-17th-century Europe.”


So you can have your persona, and that’s cool and everything, but your name has to be an actual name that would have been used in the era you choose from the region your persona is from. If you create your own heraldry, it has to be historically accurate. There are all sorts of guilds for things like glass working, herbalism, cooking, even thread arts which I’m totally stoked to look into. And they all follow historically accurate methods. 


And of course, there’s combat!!!!!


I haven’t really settled on a persona yet, but I’ll most likely go with a Norse warrior.


I haven’t been to many of the combat practices, mostly because I started going right before I went on my month long walkabout. And by “not many” I mean I went to two… But they were beyond amazingly fun and I’ve met some really awesome people who I actually miss already. Everyone was super open and friendly and didn’t seem to mind my social awkwardness since everyone is slightly socially awkward. It’s like I’ve found my people finally.


Anywho, I didn’t end up going. I went to boxing instead which turned out to be a fantastic workout. I finally made it through the whole class. The instructor was someone that I’ve never had before, and I didn’t recognize anyone who was there. I’ve never been to a Sunday class before though, so I wasn’t surprised by either of those things. I really liked this instructor. He had us do a lot of elbow strikes, which I love doing.


There’s something completely and totally vicious about slamming your forearm into the punching bag. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because it feels like I’m able to put more force behind it. All of the anger and injustice I feel over mom’s death, over Zane being a jerk, over the Universe making things harder than they need to be… it goes straight from my arm into the bag and I don’t have to worry about it having hurt feelings over it.


The bag doesn’t care. The bag is non-judgemental. The bag takes everything that I have, everything that I give, and still hangs there. It lets me hug it after I’m done so I can hide the tears that are sometimes there. And even though it can’t hug me back I know that I haven’t irrevocably damaged anything by letting go of the hurt and pain inside.


Maybe that’s overly deep. The logic side of my brain says it’s just a stupid bag. But it’s not. For one hour out of the day it’s MY stupid bag and there have been a lot of times where it has helped me and I’m grateful for that help.


So yeah, yesterday was an awesome workout. At the end of it I knew I had to eat some form of protein and drink a crap ton of water since all of me was soaked in sweat.


Corey ended up messaging me asking if I wanted to hang out and watch Deadpool. There have been a few instances where we’ve talked about hanging out, and while we have been spending more time together things can still be sort of awkward between us since we’re exs.


I don’t think I’ve ever written about Corey. He was almost four years ago. It’s sort of sobering to realize it’s been that long. It wasn’t until recently that I revisited the memories of our relationship.


We went to school together. He was in the Game Development program, which is essentially a computer software engineering degree. I was in Computer Animation. There was some thread on Facebook talking about “You know you went to Full Sail if…” and we happened to start talking through that. That led to meeting in person. We were both getting ready to graduate, neither of us knowing where we would end up afterwards, so the goal became trying to find things we disliked about each other because starting a relationship only for it to end sounded like it would suck. Only… we couldn’t find things we didn’t like about each other. We got along so well…


He got a job before he graduated. I interned with Clavan and eventually got hired at the school. So, since we were both staying in the area we started dating. There was no longer the need to stiffle or avoid what we naturally felt towards each other. After a few months we moved in together. The girl I had been rooming with kicked me out because I mentioned how I had an art test for a studio and I didn’t know if I would be moving or not. It depended on if they wanted to hire me.


Turns out they didn’t, but I still was out of a home. Corey let me move in with him. It was a one bedroom apartment. Things were good for a little while. He met mom. I met his family, driving 24 hours in a single day to make it to Maine for Thanksgiving that year. I liked, and still like, his family and I guess they still ask about me.


The good times didn’t last, though. I don’t remember all of the details in that regard. He didn’t like that I always came home later than what I was “supposed” to. All of his previous partners had cheated on him, so my being late would trigger negative emotions and insecurities. I felt like that was unfair because I was at work helping my students or talking with my supervisor or trying to get a project to a good stopping point. I was never more than 30 minutes late, but it was long enough and often enough to be an issue for the relationship.


I became more and more withdrawn which didn’t help anything, and with having a one bedroom apartment I didn’t have a “safe spot” to retreat to. Being more withdrawn made him more angry and insecure which pushed me further away.


It was a cycle that neither of us were able to break. It got to the point where I would cry in my car before going home because I wanted to be anywhere but there. I started self-harming as a way to cope, cutting the bottoms of my feet again.


I told my mom about the situation and she agreed that maybe the healthiest course of action for both of us was for me to move out.


The only person at the time that I could move in with was Warren #2, who I have wrote about. Corey knew he was an ex. A bad one. One that I didn’t like. I didn’t know what else to do at the time. I couldn’t keep coming back to a place where every time I walked through the door it felt like I was being accused of infidelity when all I was doing was my job.


I brought up the possibility of moving in with Warren. A two bedroom apartment where I would have my own space. Corey asked if Warren and I would have sex. I said I didn’t want to, but there was still tension there, and history, so it was a possibility.


We broke up. He felt betrayed. I don’t blame him or begrudge him for those feelings. I would feel that way, too. I couldn’t sit there and lie to him, though. I was already being accused of being unfaithful, so there were the feelings and thoughts of, “What’s the point? I’m doing everything right and it doesn’t matter.” There were feelings of loneliness and isolation. Hurt. I knew even though Warren wouldn’t care for me the way I wanted to be cared for, that he would press for a physical relationship. That’s who he is.


Maybe that was weakness on my part. Small, shallow, unfair. I guess in the end karma worked itself out. I’ve written about the situation with Warren. I’m stronger for the experiences I’ve had, and while I don’t want to repeat them, I’m grateful for them.


But yeah, in the end Corey and I broke up. He didn’t want to talk to me. I accepted that our relationship was over and that he would most likely think of me as a terrible person for the rest of forever. 


When mom died I wanted to tell him, but didn’t. I didn’t know how at first. I didn’t know how to get past the hurt and resentment that were most likely still there to tell him what had happened. And then there was everything else life threw at me with Zane that I had to work through… It was always something in the back of my mind, something I “should” do, but never did.


It wasn’t until I thought I was moving to Vegas to live near Jason that I finally reached out to Corey to let him know what was going on. I needed closure before I moved and I needed him to know because mom had liked him. She had been sad we hadn’t worked out.


He was sad when I told him about her death. He thanked me for reaching out. We had lunch a few days later. And I guess the rest of the past few months is sort of history… There have been a handful of times where things become sexually tense, and I’m grateful that we both back away from it. Neither of us wants to go back to a relationship. I’m pretty sure he’s still hurt over the way things ended. In the beginning he would say comments to me which hurt. I eventually said I wasn’t sure where we stood because he would seem fine, like we were friends, and then he would make a comment which cut, deeply, and so I wasn’t sure. If he was still angry I would stay away.


I don’t remember the conclusion of that conversation. I think he apologized. There haven’t been more comments so right now it feels like a fond friendship. He accepts when I’m sad without trying to change it, which I appreciate. 


Watching Deadpool had been a plan from a few months ago which had gotten canceled. The offer to watch the movie yesterday seemed nice. I didn’t really have anything else going on other than finding food and showering. I ended up going over for dinner. We had burgers and while the movie was playing I cross stitched. After it was over I helped clean the dishes.


Before I had left for my walkabout I had given Corey all of the food I still had. He didn’t use all of it so he gave me back what was left along with some things he had personally bought but no longer planned on using.


I came home. I processed through my notebook. It’s the first time I’ve had to do that in a while. I made it through a whole week of making to-do lists. I did a good job of completing most of them, too. So it wasn’t a hollow action. I actually did shit with my time. Go me.


I have my weekly list written out. A lot of it is waiting, though. Waiting to find out about the apartment. Waiting to see if I get an interview. Waiting to get the test date for my certification.


Waiting, waiting, waiting…


I’m not good at waiting. I feel like I should be doing something.


I don’t have a lot going on today. Grocery shopping for a few things would be nice. Tomorrow is laundry day since it’s cheaper on Tuesdays, so I “shouldn’t” do it today. Boxing would be good, but I still have three hours before that.


I guess I’ll figure it out.


Tomorrow is the six-month mark of mom’s death. I don’t know what that will be like. I thought I would be scared of that day. I see the wave coming. I know what it’s going to feel like. I know how it’s going to pull me down. But I’m not scared. It’s not unknown anymore.


Maybe this is progress. Maybe this is learning to cope. Tomorrow seems so easy when faced with the reality of December.


I guess I’m going to go for now. Caffeine is needed and punching bags await.

Daily Post 134: Potential Job


Yesterday didn’t go how I thought it would, but I guess that could potentially be a good thing.


Friday my writing was interrupted by a phone call from the apartment hunter. There was a place that looked really promising. The units were even on the ground floor. Screened in patios, washer and dryers in the units. Convenient location to everything I want. Pet-friendly…


I decided to go talk to them before they closed, which didn’t leave me with time to finish my writing. I showered and drove the five minutes to the complex. I talked to the guy there. I toured the model floor plan. I explained a bit of my situation and became more frustrated with society than I already was.


Because I’m unemployed I’m essentially the bane of existence to society. Because I’m unemployed it doesn’t matter what I have in my bank account. Because I’m unemployed my brother has to sign some forms saying he’s responsible for rent and that he makes four times the required amount.


I have enough money to pay for the year in full, but that doesn’t matter. I was in the top 10% of my department for work performance, but that doesn’t matter. I have amazing renter’s history and fantastic credit and I’ve always paid my taxes but none of that matters either. It doesn’t matter that I have an outstanding work ethic, or that my mom died, or that I have plans to get a job and that I’m not actually a freeloader.


I’m unemployed. I suck and would be a terrible tenant and I don’t deserve to have a place to live.


I’m still coming to terms with how our society is set up I guess. I’m still left wondering what’s the point of being an amazing employee, or a decent citizen when none of it matters or helps you when you need help. It’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that I don’t even really need help I just need for there to not be all of this BS in the way. What does it matter if I don’t have income when I can guarantee the year up front? 


Tangent aside, I filled out an application. It was too late to get to the bank and back in time with the processing fee, but I arranged to be at the office first thing when they opened in the morning. After that, since I had missed boxing to go to the apartment complex, I came back to the room and got ready for dinner since I had promised Corey his IOU.


Dinner was nice. We went to Kobe which is a Japanese steak house. I had leftovers at the end since there’s always so much food. That ended up being breakfast the next day.


I woke up at 9am so I could make it to the bank to get the check for the apartment complex. I also got a check for Corey since I was buying his couch from him along with getting the mattresses. I gave him more money than we agreed to. He’s been supportive of me during this time and he agreed to help me move everything, so I felt like it was the right thing to do.


After the bank I dashed over to the apartment office. Mr. Dude said he would send me an email with the forms my brother needed to fill out. Shocker… the email still hasn’t arrived. Even checked the spam folder. Much lame.  It only adds fuel to the fire of my seething annoyance with society.


At least I can send a fucking email on time. /flips middle finger at no one in general


Anywho, once the check was handed over, which secures the apartment until the application process is concluded, I went to pick up the Uhaul truck. Went to Corey’s, loaded it up, then started driving to the storage unit where I proceeded to bitch talk about the apartment situation.


That’s where yesterday started to deviate from what I had expected it to be. Corey mentioned how his company was looking for CG artists, and how they needed someone pretty much ASAP. He brought up the job posting and read off the requirements / desires to me. Some of them I fit, some of them I don’t.


We basically agreed that it didn’t hurt to apply, and that since he knew the art director he would mention me and send my resume to him directly. Once we were done at the storage unit I began seeing what I needed to do to apply for this job.


I needed to update my resume, website, YouTube, Vimeo, and LinkedIn. Cool… so I’m a total slacker and need to update everything… I can do this. First things first… let’s focus on the resume. All I need to do is find the original Illustrator file… but on yeah… my desktop is in the storage unit I just left, you know… 30 minutes away and I guess I never put the Illustrator file on Dropbox… So I guess I need to remake my resume since that would be faster than driving back, setting up my computer, getting the file, then editing whatever it is that I need to… That’s fine. I wanted to change the structure a bit anyway. This gives me a clean slate to do it.


So now all I need is a computer with Illustrator. No worries. I’m sure one of my former coworkers has a lab today. They can badge me into the building and I can use a school computer for a few hours… Oh… except that no one is on campus today…. Fuuuuuuuuu… Come on, Universe… A bone… something… I’m going to make this work, dammit, and you can’t stop me. 


I ended up messaging Frank. He said he had Illustrator CS5 on his computer and that I was welcome to use it. Hooray!


I went over and banged out a new resume in a few hours. It was nice to be inside of Illustrator again, though it would have been easier to align all of the text in InDesign. By the time I was done recreating the resume it was six-ish. I was supposed to have card night with Frank and everyone at seven, but I was on a roll and wanted to get everything done as soon as possible.


Frank seemed to understand and wished me luck. I came back to my room where I proceeded to go through my other sites, updating information, correcting typos no one ever told me about, and deleting videos which were no longer relevant. Mostly those videos were things I had to post for school and didn’t want on my professional sites anymore.


So all of my stuff is cleaned up. The only other things I want to do is type up a cover letter and possibly print out some pictures of my traditional artwork since that was a desired skill to have according to the posting. It wouldn’t be a super nice portfolio, but I can make it work given the short notice, and I think as long as it’s clean that having something is better than nothing.


Big Bad came over later in the evening. It was a nice to let go of all of the stress regarding the apartment and this potential job. Getting the job would mean society can go fuck itself. If I get the artist position and not the QA tester I will be making way more than what I ever did at Full Sail and there would be no question about being able to secure an apartment, any apartment. 


If I happen to get an interview I’m going to be up front about my situation and how December is going to suck. At the moment it’s back to playing the waiting game I suppose since I won’t know anything today, most likely for the next few days.


As far as how today is supposed to shape out. I have combat practice for SCA in 20 minutes, so I’ll be late showing up but I’m ok with that. It’s a three-hour practice today. I most likely won’t stay for all of it. But it will be good to get out and have some sunshine for a little bit. It will be good to practice something that I can lose myself in.


I started listening to American Gods the other day. It’s good so far, and longer than the young adult books I’ve been listening to, so it should last me a little bit. After combat I’ll most likely come back, shower, and stitch for a bit while listening to the book. Maybe after I write that pesky cover letter… Eventually I need to go grocery shopping since I’m down to not having food again. At least nothing except burger patties, which are good, but doesn’t leave me much else.


So I’m hoping today is a fairly low key day. And with that I’m off to go beat people up with swords.


Daily Post 133: Apartments Suck


I was in the middle of writing yesterday afternoon when I got interrupted by a phone call. I was never able to get back to the post and so I left it incomplete. The moment had passed.


Yesterday, Thursday,  was rough. Therapy was intense. I cried through most of it. I talked about the trip. How Colorado was awesome. How Vegas was hard. How I wanted mom to have been sitting in the chair in the living room after I had finished reading Jace his story. I talked about how I hadn’t wanted to sit down at dinner the first night and how I knew that running away from it, hiding outside and smoking cigarettes until I ran out wouldn’t have made it easier for anyone. I talked about the hike with Jason. How we’re planning on doing “family nights” through PS4 games. I talked about how it felt like I would choke and die on some of the words while we talked because the pain and loss from mom’s death were so much more intense with Jason.


I talked about a lot of things. I talked about the blacksmith. I guess it was sort of hard not to at least mention him since I’m covered in bruises and hickeys. I mentioned that it was an amazingly mind-blowingly awesome a good time, and that it had been a more emotional meeting. The blacksmith and I talked a lot about mom the night we were together. It had been a hard day, and I told him as much.


Blacksmith: “What do you miss about her?”

Me: “I miss her hugs. I miss hearing her on the phone.”

Blacksmith: “Is that all she was to you? Phone calls and hugs?”


She was everything to me. She was unwrapping caramels on the couch together while watching Law and Order so we could make brownies. She was hours spent at the kitchen table working on puzzles. She was the editor who proof read every single essay I ever wrote. She was super mom who always had a warm dinner ready for Jon and me even though she was a single mom working full time. She was tireless dedication, making sure we always had a ride home from band practice.


She was a million acts of selflessness. She was a million moments where she put someone else before herself. She was a million actions of love and caring.


All of that is still really close to the surface right now, and so today, like yesterday after therapy, is sort of low and heavy. Washing the five dishes I dirtied for breakfast feels like a lot of effort. The thought of going out to boxing later makes my shoulders feel weighed down. I can lift the weight, but I really don’t want to, and what’s the point of doing it?


I have dinner plans with Corey that I can’t back out of. He’s the friend that helped me move the furniture from my brother’s apartment into my storage unit. The dinner was an IOU for his help, and he’s cashing it in tonight. So boxing, shower, dinner. That’s really the main things of my day, which is pretty much already over since it’s nearly 4 in the afternoon.


I’ve been listening to American Gods, which is a really interesting book so far. I’ve been cross stitching while I listen.


I got a phone call from the apartment complex I’m supposed to be moving into yesterday. Apparently the bank statement I gave them isn’t 100% what they’re looking for. I’m frustrated with them. I’ve had a handful of people apply to be my roommates. They’ve been denied, and the denial isn’t my problem. It’s the fact that it takes three days for the office to get me the information I need, and even then I only get it because I call back and remind them that I can’t do anything until I get their email. It’s the fact that they didn’t call me to tell me the applicants had been denied. It’s the fact that I haven’t even moved in yet and I feel lied to since I handed them this piece of paper a month ago and they said it was fine and that I was approved. It’s not fine, though, so I guess I’m not approved?


I don’t know, and I really don’t care.


I realized on the flight back to Orlando that I think of the Winter Park area as home. I want to stay there. It’s near the gyms I like. It’s near the dojo I want to go back to. It’s near the parks where SCA holds combat practice. It’s familiar. It’s near my friends. I don’t want to move to a complex further away with an office that is already making me not happy.


I was put in touch with an apartment hunter this morning. She’s already found two places that look promising. I’ll most likely end up having to get a cosigner, but Jason has agreed to help. We both mentioned how we would rather he not need to sign anything for me, but we’re seeing what’s out there and cosigning could give me more prospects.


I guess we’ll see how that pans out. But at the moment it’s back to uncertainty and that sucks. At least for the moment I have confidence that one way or another things will work. 


I got Scarlet back yesterday. I’ve been cuddling with her off and on and brushing her like mad. I’ve gotten at least another cat out of her.


She’s lost weight since I’ve been gone. I keep thinking about the last vet visit I had with her and how I was told that the first sign of an issue with pets is weight loss. I keep thinking about how the average lifespan of a cat is 15 years and how Scarlet is going on 16. I keep thinking about how she’s my little old lady and that I know I don’t have much time left with her.


And the only thing I can think in the face of all of that is that this is life. This is love. Loving, caring, means that when they leave there’s pain. It’s worth it though. To me, loving mom was, is, worth it. Loving Scarlet is worth it. Loving my friends and having them in my life, is worth it.


I don’t want to hermit away. I don’t want to push away the people I care about so I don’t have to hurt later. I don’t know where else to go with that thought at the moment, but that’s where I’m at. I still want to love because life is worth loving.


Tomorrow I have to move the mattress and couch from Corey’s apartment into my storage unit. I think Big Bad wants to hang out, which is the one social obligation that doesn’t feel draining. I know there will be hugs and cuddles, and most likely sneezing since he’s allergic to cats. Not super allergic, at least that’s what he said. The thought of seeing him makes me smile.

Ended here due to interrupting phone call.