Then I spoke with him on Saturday, and it seems that his rash has returned. He went to an emergency clinic, paid an assload of money for two shots to hopefully clear up the rash and went home to sleep.

He woke up and found bedbugs.

Apparently his rash is an allergy to the little fuckers. So, he bought covers for his awesome bed and is going to choke the little fuckers to death. Given all the traveling I’ve been doing, it was recommended to me that we get a plastic cover for our bed and seal it up so the possible bedbugs have no where to breed.

Have you seen what they look like? *Shudder*

I don’t want those little evil things in my house. But they are everywhere. In theaters. In swanky hotels, and apparently, in my brother’s bed. Ew. I am getting a cover for my bed… tomorrow.

My mother had a big honkin’ piece of ick removed from her face last week. Both my mother and my sister also have their noses pierced. Mom developed a mole right next to the piercing which apparently grew cancerous. She also had another “spot” on the bridge of her nose. What should have been an hour procedure turned into 8 hours with “reconstruction” as part of the process. Mom took a look at her face last night, for the first time since the surgery. She has 28 stitches in her nose. Mom wears sunscreen, and does most of what you are supposed to do to take care of your skin. These moley thingies are prone to this issue. I inherited this moley/freckle thing from Mom so I do worry about myself. Right now I just want her to heal properly. And I know she will. She is sad because they removed the part of her nose where the piercing was, but I am sure she will be happier to be cancer free.

So I read this article in Powell’s newsletter today and she mentions hearing music. The older I get the more often this happens to me, and for some reason it’s always with fans. It’s not just music I hear, it’s voices, mumbling singing voices. It’s kind of beautiful, but was a little disconcerting the first time I heard it (during one of my worst manic episodes, after a terrible incident with a former friend). Now, I hear it all the time when I’m tired. The more I read, the more I understand that no matter how much I want this to, it won’t go away. That is okay most of the time, but like last night, I had 2 hours of sleep. This isn’t sustainable. I may have to start sleeping with headphones so I can concentrate on getting my brain to bed. The other biggest issue is my lack of exercise. I wish I wasn’t so fucking lazy.

I. Need. To. Win. The. Lottery.

Now, I finally got the email I’ve been expecting but not really wanting. The agent from NY that I pitched to during res this summer rejected my novel. I knew she would, and every lovely, well-explained reason made painful sense to me. The things she liked also made sense. I busted my ass on two things in the book: setting and dialect. I don’t know why I obsessed over those two things, but I did, and it showed. The problem areas are the ones that I always have a problem with: character motivation and honestly, plot. How can one write a book with little to no plot? It takes a fucking miracle, and I did it.

Okay maybe I am being a little hard on myself. There IS a plot, but the reasons for the characters doing things does not make sense to the reader. It makes perfect sense in my little noggin, but my noggin is not translating to paper well.

Sigh.

What does this mean? Well my “rejection cherry” has been popped, and all of my lovely classmates and writerly friends celebrated the rejection with me. It also means I have a metric fuckton of editing to do on that novel. But guess who is finishing her MFA? Yeah, this kid. So, no time.

But I have a plan! So while I am working on my WIP I will also edit the first book, sort of a way to take my brains out of one work and put them into another. Honestly with the first book, I was burnt the fuck out, and it shows in the writing. I am a superhero, so I will write my WIP and edit Book 1, and somehow maintain sanity.

I think I need to go to the wine store. Wine is the only thing that will fuel this.

In other news, I spent a brilliant weekend in Seattle with the hubbie and our friends Erin and Jason, and our Portland friend Megan. That weekend: I went to a punk show, realized how fat I am, drank more whiskey than is human, used margaritas to cure my hangover, smoked until my throat hurt, fell more in love with Seattle, fell more in love with my friends, lusted over shoes and danced my ass off. Erin and I became really good friends last summer when she hired me, but she moved to Seattle to be with Jason (who I adore). I always have fun with them, and Jason brings out the social side of my hubbie.

Seattle… I know we are going to move there eventually. There’s an energy about that city that intoxicates me. It makes Portland seem charming and small and almost insignificant. That is not to say that I don’t love Portland, I do. This is a brilliant place where anything goes, and everyone (generally…unless you are a tea-partier) is accepted. But I miss being in a proper big city. The hubbie knows we will get there eventually, but for now, we are going to focus on succeeding where we are…

I am headed to San Fran to visit the birthdaughter on Labor Day weekend (remember that traveling I was telling you about?). I’m excited to go but bummed because, yet again, I am going alone. We don’t have the cash to bring the hubbie and then spring for a dog sitter. So, I am flying out there alone. They have not seen me in almost 8 years, I think. She’s 16 now. This should be “interesting.” Nice time to quit smoking, eh? (I’m going through a cycle of quitting smoking, fucking up, quitting again, rinse and repeat…so I’ll be quitting for a while, methinks).

So this week I have: 3 classes worth of work to finish, a submission due to my DeMentor, crits to work on and sanity to maintain.

Oh, and I quit drinking too…think that’s about to end.

This weekend started off well. It’s been hotter than the devil’s taint, here in loverly Portland.  The hubbie and I gallivanted down to an impromptu happy hour with some of my favorite people from work. Then we geeked out at the casa and ignored the fact that we really need to clean (Cats should seriously have to shave themselves in the summer. Valentine’s hair has gotten ridiculous). I’ve been bitching about it all summer, the whole 5 days we’ve actually had this summer. Saturday we spent time at a favorite watering hole with a favorite friend who, no matter how many times we talk, shocks me with her intelligence and wit. And, holy god, does she have some funny stories. It’s the hardest I have laughed since residency.

Then on Sunday, put on my Grumpasarus pants.

I lost the domain name for my other site. How many Erica McEacherns are running around out there? A few, as far as I can tell, and one of them snagged the domain name that has been under my control for 2 years. But I didn’t pay attention to the e-mails and hollering from godaddy and so now I don’t have the fucking site.

I’m very bitter about this.

I.Should. Pay. Attention.

I get so much crap in my email these days that I ignore most of it. I am waiting for a very important e-mail from a woman I have dubbed Awfulsauce. But that is a story for later in this blog post.

CHICKEN!

I’m listening to a really good song right now – “Warning” by Great Northern. Hmmm… I should remember them and check out the rest of the album (I love you Pandora…. Loooooooveee youuuuu).

Back to the bitching. So, to torture me, I keep getting e-mails about the status of my former site. I then, in a knee-jerk reaction, purchased two new domains, which I will be working on getting up and running in the coming days. Thank god my other site is hosted by Squarespace… didn’t lose anything, just the name.

Fucking douche.

In the same month, our car was hit in the parking lot at New Seasons and our radio died. It’s not actually dead. Dead would be okay. Dead would not tempt me by playing music at mid level and now allowing me to change the song. Dead would not tease me with a radio button that doesn’t work. Dead is fine. No, the damn thing half-works. I need to order a new faceplate from Alpline. I just haven’t. Our car also got banged up by some fucktard at New Seasons when I ran in to grab lunch. It’s not worth filing an insurance claim, it just looks like shit. I wish someone would throw the car off a cliff.

No radio.Bad paint job when we had it fixed from the accident and a radio that was never installed correctly when it got ripped out last summer.

I hate that car, but I miss NPR in the morning.

School was amazing. This is the first term that no one was graduating, so when we would normally trod off to thesis readings, we had time, and lots of it. Too much time, if you ask me,  because idle hands do the devil’s work and apparently my devil really likes to drink (I know this is a shock to you all…it’s okay. I only really drank to excess 2 out of the 6 nights we were there). There were again jokes that were made that still make me giggle, but Zorro just isn’t funny to other people (It happens…in your EYE!). I ended the week with a less functioning liver, many bug bites, a new thesis project, grass stains on my favorite jeans, mystery bruises, corgi hair on my sweater,  a fun button that mentions my Twitter addiction, new friends, and lots of big dreams.

So, speaking of dreaming. I have had the lovely Calie as a crit partner for 2 years now (god help her). We were told that we had to have a third person in our group. Now, Calie and I are kind of snarky. We can deal with each others bitchiness and flaws because we truly love each other and we have no qualms about calling the other out. In truth – we are honest in the most vicious way. This attitude and way of working is not feasible for many of our school cohorts. Only the strongest of bitches can put up with us, and that woman would be Ven. Now Venessa is a recivitus, and a full time editor. She’s also willing to spank me, so it is the best of all worlds.

During the residency, a few agents came to work and speak with the alums. I am techincally an alum, but since I am back in school to get the “F” or get “F’d” as it were, I didn’t have a chance to participate in any of the alum stuff. They had pitch sessions that the alums could sign up for, and Ven was in charge of getting them filled up and keeping the agents happy (that woman is a workhorse and can juggle monkeys. I’m sure she can.), which mean getting all the pitch sessions signed up for. We were upstairs, and I think I was probably bitching about day 3 of my hangover when she demanded I go downstairs and sign up for a pitch session.

Truth? I’ve never written one.

Truth? I don’t have a synopsis.

Truth? I hate talking about my book because I always feel like I’m saying the wrong thing.

Truth? I was scared shitless.

Ven and I went to the room to sign up. A woman was signing little tickets for the raffle next to us when I began bitching about not know what the hell I was doing. The woman, with a hungry smile, sat me down and had me practice pitch to her, had me answer some questions (It made me feel amazingly stupid when I didn’t realize what my conflict was) and then proudly told me that I’d just pitched. Then Ven told me who it was.

One of the agents.

Who is known to be beastly.

And then I signed up to do a formal pitch. I still had an entire class to get through prior to the pitch. I will admit to not paying one iotia of attention. I wrote my pitch. Ven was in the class with me and found a lovely handout generated by another student that walked us through how to write one. It was an amazing document. So, we both wrote our pitches (she was to go right after me), and then I snuck out of class early to go downstairs and deal with the agent.

I heard her reject someone right before I went in.

My stomach fell into my toes.

And then with a laugh that could shake buildings she called me in. I don’t know if it is polite to state who I spoke with (I’m going to err on the side of caution here), but she made me laugh. She was so easy to talk to  and her laugh was inflectious, but she still scared the hell out of me.

Then she requested a full manuscript.

I didn’t pitch my book. She liked me. So, she wanted my book.

Life is strange.

I tried to hug her later and she kicked me (or poked me… I may have a been a touch overserved), but Awfulsauce seemed happy to meet me, and I was more than pleased to meet her. Now I’m just waiting for my first, ever rejection. At least it’s going to be a big one. By the way, in her contacts list, my profession is listed as: Awesomesauce. I met another lovely agent during the weekend, but I think I was too drunk when I tried to pitch to him. He may or may not have asked for pages, but I was so embarrassed about my drunkenness then I didn’t send a damn thing. I am only regretting it a little.

I am also starting on a new thesis project. When I wrote my first book (which was my thesis for my MA), I had no clue what I was doing, or what I was getting myself into. I painted myself in a few corners with the story and the limits I set for the characters. I felt comfortable with those characters though, so I started book 2 with my MFA. That sounded like a grand idea but I’m tired of those annoying little buggers. In all honesty, they are not cooperative and the characters I want to focus on decide to retreat to the shadows and pout, or smoke crack, or make fingerpuppets out of napkins. I don’t know what the hell they are doing back there, but they are not helping the story. I’ve had another idea, a type of female character I’ve wanted to write for a while. So when I submitted a peice to be critiqued at school I wrote something new, something that made me happy, something I had fun writing. The peice was well recieved. My DeMentor lead the workshop where we cut it to peices, but overall, they liked it. And I like that they liked it. And then the DeMentor turned to me and said, “You are changing your thesis to this, right?”

I smiled. The bastard was right. Book 2 has not been fun to write. However this new thing has been. And I’m getting all crazy and writing in first person (Calie is going to kick my ass for this because I generally hate 1st person, but she’s doing it pretty well… maybe I can too). So that will be what I’m working on for the next 6 months.

Oh, and I got an iPad. I LOVE IT.

I think that covers most of the madness in the last few weeks. I should get back to working on things that need to be completed. My life is going to be wicked busy come these next few months. Things I am looking forward to: World Fantasy Con, the Willamette Writers con thingy in August, dealing with some family stuff, a trip to Seattle with a close friend, and my freaking birthday. I don’t care much for the birthday, but the rest of it will rock. Now, back to your regularly scheduled madness….

So know what? It’s bullet time!

• I think the word “huzzah” is making a comeback. David and I heard it while watching the John Adams miniseries on HBO and I find that it’s lovely for random occasions. See how you can use it in daily life. That is your homework.
• I am finishing up with my term for school, which means I’m not sleeping and have turning into a beastly person to deal with. The additional classes they added for the “F” are bringing me to my knees. I’ve spend more time in a state of panic, or talking Calie down from the edge, or whining that is decent. You know what’s terribly fun? It’s going to be worse next term. I have  3 weeks to write an entire book. Okay, well to finish book 2. Remember that life I had? Yeah, I don’t either.
• It’s silly, but my new purple hair makes me happy. When I told a co-worker how old I was, he looked shocked. “I refuse to grow up,” I told him. I don’t know what it is about me and this phase in my life but I’m having a lot of fun. I’m just being me, and it feels fantastic.
• We are debating moving again. Not outside of Portland. We can’t afford to pick up and move to Seattle when we both finally have jobs. But our house is pissing us off. The heat is sketchy, there is no insulation, and frankly, the house is too old. It’s also massive, way more than 2 people and 4 fuzzies need. But it is nice to have space, and we don’t have to worry about someone else accepting our creatures (why is it kids are okay, but having a cat with claws is a deal-breaker?). We are on the fence, but it comes up constantly. We need to either make this a place we want to stay or pick up and move. The decision will come eventually.
• I am sometimes reminded why we leave certain people behind, and seek others out from our past. Recently, I was reminded how much of an assshole someone was. May they enjoy their karma. And then the hubbie found his old roommate, which is brilliant. We have some secret plans regarding Florida, but I’ve said too much.
• I’m heading out to PA next month for my last residency, I think. I’m still contemplating taking one more res, in January, when I graduate. I get to hang out with my dear friend Nikki, who is going to lend me her corgi so I can smoosh him to death. Corgis are an ongoing obsession of mine… I blame Cowboy Bebop.

This blog has been around for many years, through the genesis and termination of friendships, changes in my own personal world view, moves, marriages, deaths, and discoveries. I won’t retire it just yet, but I may keep infrequent updates going. I am also working more on the site where I actually use my name. Being a 33 year old writer living in Portland really isn’t that interesting, at least not in a way I can describe. So, for a while I am going to live my life, not write about it. If you are agonizingly curious, I am still on Facebook and I Twitter regularly (see the links in the sidebar). Or, you could just e-mail me.

For now, interwebs, have fun, play nice and remember everything you’ve ever written on the web can be found.

~Erica~

Today I woke and have started to dig myself out. I had much of my teaching module done for school and in a fit of despair, deleted the entire thing. I’m back to building it from scratch again, trying to piece together the info I still have sitting on the desktop. Crazy people take a lot longer to do things, I guess. At least I know where all the information is.

I think I have settled with the sections I want to read for my thesis defense. Then again, I will probably change my mind. But I am trying to ignore the fact that D won’t be there. That honestly makes me get all teary eyed every time I think about it. I am starting to get excited about school,  but I am feeling overwhelmed. What if I bomb my teaching module? That is the one that has me worried.

And I haven’t even thought about pitching my novel yet. I can’t wrap my head around that. One thing at a time…. just one thing.

Right now, I would like to kick life in its everloving ass and tell it to be a little more fair. David will not be flying out to my graduation. We’ve both been unemployed since January and our finances just can’t take it. I pouted, felt sorry for myself, worried that I would be embarrassed at graduation because none of my family would be there to holler for me. And I will admit that I cried a bit.

Then we got the call today that his father is dying. He has had several bouts with melanoma, but the cancer spread to his brain. He was given 2-4 months to live. Suddenly my selfishness for whining about David come to my graduation are eclipsed by the fact that I think he needs to say goodbye to his father. He’s ambivelent. He wants to go out to support his brothers (he has 5) and his half sisters (he has 4), but we are not financially in a place where that can be done. Now, David had a great interview today and we are both very hopeful, but there’s no guarantee that he can fly out there. It’s no question that he should go out, it’s just whether the economy will allow us the cash to get there. I will bleed the rock dry to try to get him out there. We are also dealing with all these extra expenses for my graduation. Yes the car and plane flight are paid for, but I do need to eat, and the fucking gown is 75 dollars. I’m tempted not to walk at all to save that money. It’s just the suck right now.

I, as David’s wife, think he should fly out to say goodbye. He’s not close to his father. They have had a distant relationship their entire life due to a separation before David was born. But his father has tried in recent years. We are very different when it comes to loss and mourning, but I do think David would feel better about things if he could just spend some time with his family at this point. Now, I’m hoping the next few weeks will include some rockin’ good luck and love from the Fates. Perhaps all this worrying will be for naught and we can scrounge up the cash to get him to see his Dad.

That’s not to say that it’s all terrible. It isn’t. David and I are working very well together to keep each other out of the pits of despair. We make little plans to keep from going insane. And honestly we’ve grown closer these 6 months without work. I guess that is what happens when adversity hits your family – you sink or swim. My sister has been invaluable through the whole process – both as a shoulder on which to lean in my weak moments and the one who saved our asses to pay rent this month. If I have to pay her back 5 bucks at a time, I will. You can’t take that kind of kindness for granted.

So, all in all this is really a post about the bad and good in things. I’ve had a few dark days recently. But I realized that getting up every morning, I have a choice – I can mourn the loss of my former life with a steady income or I can celebrate the time I’ve had to grow closer to my husband and write. My only wish right now is that I can find the money to get David out to see his Dad before he passes. Honestly, everything else is a luxury.

We grilled in the back yard – asparagus by the pound and veggie sausages. She made chicken for everyone in my stove. We danced around the kitchen, nearly bumping elbows, laughing more than one should. I actually have a grown-up table and a kids table now. Who knew I would flex the edges of my life to include children? Granted, they are not my own, but I’ve made space for them and their noise. I’m proud of that.

And when they left, I felt the silence of this big house for the first time. It fit like a sweater four sizes too big. I’ve made my life in the quiet of our house. We laugh loudly, we watch movies at decibels that would make one’s ears bleed, and if you’ve ever heard a beagle bay, you know that it’s not all quiet. I missed my family when they left. I missed my BIL and the bright way he smiles when my niece gives him a hug. I miss my younger nephews incessant questions and constant ramblings (he is much like my sister at that age, never quiet, talking even when no one listens). I miss my older nephews uncomfortable stance in the world, at fourteen, on the edge of childhood and adulthood, with a timid foot in both. I miss my niece, who has discovered presumptuous questions but still loves to play on her own. And I miss my sister, who beyond all other in my life (except my husband) understands that family is what you make of it. The differences exist, but our love for each other has gone beyond the normal sisterly bond. We are the best of friends.

In the coming months I shall swallow the sounds of my family. This is the last summer they will live close by for the military is moving them somewhere far away. Honestly, anything beyond the NW part of the country is far for us. The visits will become infrequent. I will end up remarking how the kids have grown in the spans of time between visits. I will feel my age as the loud, boisterous love of being young fades into the sullen contemplation of the teenage years. I will struggle a little with that last visit which will probably be on my 33rd birthday and I will have to grow used to a house whose silence fits uncomfortably around the memories I cherish.

But Erica, you can catch a ride with somone else, you say.

Yes, I could. This is my last term, and we are trying to get David out to watch me walk, and I would want to be able to take us back to the airport together. I want that experience of traveling with him again. We haven’t done it in years because school necessitated that I fly twice a year. It’s almost over. I don’t really know how to feel about it.

I submitted my manuscript, after additional issues with the time. I’m hoping it is edited to everyone’s satisfaction. It felt like, at least to me, that the first half was edited well. The last 100 pages left much to be desired, I think. The only comfort right now is that I can’t do anything about it. It’s been submitted and my mentors will make their judgements. If I have to make edits, I will.

David and I saw Star Trek last night. I thought it was brilliant. The pacing was intense, the tone both comical and serious, and the actors just blew my socks off. If you can, I think that you should go and see it. I would say more, but I know some of my readers will go and see it this weekend. I hate spoilers and I wouldn’t do that to you.

But now, I have things to do, so here’s a picture of bliss.

Seriously, I almost peed my pants when I read this. David and I are headed to the Stumptown Comics Fest this weekend (we are totally biking there). I can’t wait. But meanwhile, in Ericaland, I have a novel to finish editing. Yeah, it’s totally due today.

No you don’t have to tell me what an awesome procrastinator I am. I know.

I lost the cap on my tooth when I was 19.  After an afternoon of excessive pot smoking, I did what all stoners did in the 90′s – I went to 7-11 for a Slurpie. Now, I have a deep-seeded weakness for mint candies. Mint chocolate chip ice cream is my favorite, and I loved Christmas just as much for the candy canes as I did for the presents. But I am a connoisseur of mint, and when I bit into an inferior starmint at that 7-11, I spit it out immediatly. It felt sticky in my mouth, too sticky.

It took a few moments for my bong-hazed brain to realize that I’d lost part of my front tooth. Back then, I was very fond of overalls and wearing braids. I had moved from NC to Miami a year earlier, and worked very hard to lose my Southern accent. With my overalls, braids and broken front tooth, I felt like some hillbilly reject.

I didn’t smile or laugh without my hand in front of my mouth for weeks.

Fast forward to this week, and I found out that I have a cavity in that broken tooth. So I got the cavity fixed and now my smile is whole. It feels strange to have a tooth there now, but it looks good.

My former stepmother took a few digs at my sister after finding her old blog. I have to say, it’s all kinds of bullshit. My sister said things there that were not flattering to the former stepmother, but honestly her behavior warranted it. And the last time I checked, if it’s your blog you can say what you want. One of her sons is in Afghanistan right now, and she sent him an e-mail (along with all her other kids and my sister) with a sarcastic apology for being a bad mother. Thing is, did I mention her son is overseas right now? You know, like fighting a war. People should really get over themselves.

So I plugged my iPhone into my computer to charge yesterday and got pissed last night when it wasn’t holding the charge. I get up this morning and realize the cable wasn’t connected to the computer.

I gotz smartz.

What I can tell you in positive land, is that Spring has arrive in Portland. I have a massive cherry tree in my backyard with beautiful pink blossoms. It really is a sight to behold. And I had to mow for the first time since we moved. We left our old gas-powered mower at the house on 33rd, but brought my push mower. We have a good sized yard so it took me an hour or so. It looks great, and I smelled like fresh cut grass and sweat. That’s what Spring is all about. I have yet to tackle the mass of blackberry brambles in the area near the potting shed. Seriously, how do I get rid of those things without killing everything else? I guess time will tell.

But I am plagued by dandelions. Bastards.

I did cut my hair off again. It’s a cute, kind of deconstructed cut that highlights my curls while taking the length off the back of my neck. She took almost 2 hours to cut it, paying attention to how the curls formed and where the bulk was. I love love love this cut. I like my hair long, but it almost felt too “mother earth” or old ladyish. This way I can be all spikey and sassy and fun. Yes, I just wrote a whole paragraph about my hair. There’s some girly left in me.

I went to Tacoma last week to help out my sister. Although she’s still in her 20′s, she developed a hernia. My mother also flew up from Colorado because the day before the surgery was her birthday and my nephew was home all week for Spring Break. There was also my niece at home who is 4, and too young for school just yet. The surgery went well. I have a lovely picture of my sister post-op, stoned out of her gourd. And all was well until a phonecall from my uncle.

Let me walk around the issue to remind people that when I don’t get sleep, I’m very reactionary and illogical. I also do not get along particularly well with this uncle. He’s only 10 years older than me so there is tension from his childhood where he blamed me for my mother leaving him. He’s also the one who has had the most problems in our family with substance abuse and mental illness. But I digress. He just says shit sometimes. So he called my sister’s phone, wanting to make sure she was okay but my BIL answered. My BIL and uncle have never met. The uncle goes on this diatribe about how my sister is his favorite and how he doesn’t particularly care for me because we are too similar or some such bullshit. My mother walked in the door about 10 minutes later from a day of shopping and I called her brother and asshole. Fight ensues. 10 minutes later I’m on I5 heading south, back to Portland and to home. I haven’t spoken to my mother since. What I do realize is that when I am denied sleep, either because the kids are up early, or my mother is walking around the house talking on the phone and letting the back door slam, or because I was getting up to make sure my sister was getting her meds or just freaking alive, things can go wrong. But after talking to David about the whole thing, I don’t regret ending the trip early.

I’m used to telling people that my mother and I are close. It falls off my tongue as easily as my name. And we are close, at a distance. Proximity is not good for the two of us. I don’t think she’s the least bit interested in what I do as a writer, which is fine, I guess. I try to keep up with her busy social and political life. I listen when she talks about the issues with town and her newest projects. But when I talk about my novel, or David’s art projects, her eyes kind of glaze over. For the first time in my life I came to understand how unimportant my writing is to her, and for some reason, that was a physical blow. It feels like she doesn’t really listen to me. So my leaving Tacoma was spurred by the argument, but it was easier to leave for other reasons. Beyond political leanings, we have little in common. And there are some deeper revelations I’ve come to, but this is a public blog and I think that’s enough. Suffice to say, I will graduate in June, and the people who understand what a struggle this has been for me will be proud. My mother will probably also be proud, but because I completed my Master’s, not because I completed my first novel.

On lighter notes, I love Avatar the Last Airbender. We rented the DVDs from Nextflix years ago but kept getting scratched disks. I eventually gave up. But iTunes had the entire first season available, so I downloaded it.

Then the tantrum ensued.

It looked awful. Every time the characters moved there seemed to be artifacting, turning solid lines into some fuzzy mess. I wanted to be okay with it. I do love the series, but not enough to watch it like that. After spending 2 days trying to find the e-mail to contact them, I finally dug up the information. Now, I know Apple wants people to figure out how to do things on their own, but jesushfuckingchrist, make it a little easier to contact customer service please. But once the issue was e-mailed, they refunded my money immediately. We are also using Netflix again, because renting movies from them is much cheaper, and I get to rent entire shows like Weeds and Mad Men. Plus it streams through the Xbox. We watched 88 Minutes last night, and the quality of the stream was great. The movie sucked though.

Our house on 33rd officially belongs to the bank now. We left our Weber grill in the garage and kept meaning to go back and get it. David noticed, while riding by on his bike, the locks had been changed on the garage. On top of that, there are notices on all the windows that the city will convict for trespassing. The house looks like shit, really. The broken tiles on the porch are stacked up (a tripping hazard) and the windows are all foggy and dusty. I almost feel bad for our former landlady – she’s taking a loss on the place, but she really did fuck us by not paying her mortgage. Moral of the story – I don’t feel THAT bad.

The progress on the novel is going well. I still feel like I have too many things to do and not enough time. That’s how life is though, isn’t it? Speaking of my novel…….

And I would continue this post, but I have a house to clean. Ain’t life fun?

I usually research things like this so I can forget about them two days later and bitch about them next year. I don’t care about St. Patty’s day. It’s like Cinco de Mayo, when everyone suddenly loves Mexicans and Mexican culture and wants to drink with them.

Me? I’m half mexican, half irish mutt and I don’t wait for occasions to drink. I just drink when it feel like it.

And lately I’ve felt pretty crappy post-drinking. I’ve been trying to stick to tea at night. I like the act of drinking (just as I like the act of smoking) in the evening. Water doesn’t cut the mustard, but tea seems to work for me.

So here’s to manufactured holidays, where we wear green, dye rivers, get smashed, and we don’t even know why!

How American.