I can has.

Date number three with the Proprietress is scheduled. Life's been happening to her, so it took a little longer than I might have liked. Nevertheless, I'm psyched! The sun is out, the cherry trees are blooming, and a young(-at-heart) queer woman's thoughts turn to ahem.

Seriously, though, there have been several years when I saw big spikes in dating activity in the spring. At the moment I'm OK with this.

The past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

I had dinner over at Ex's place so we could talk about the Wendling, etc. There's some good news and some bad news.

The good news is that the people she knows of who could help file an SSDI claim for our son don't ask for up front money, they want a percentage afterward. She claims that it won't take multiple years, but given what I've read right here on the Dee Dubya, I'm skeptical. Well, I no longer see a reason to try to stop her, so why not?

There's more good news: my son has started talking to a mentor, another autistic who has, like, a real job and stuff. M'boy is willing to talk to him, apparently, because he doesn't see him as "inferior" (!) the way he did the other autistics he's met over the years. The Wendling has been doing things like arranging therapy appointments and buying groceries without being asked to do so, much less reminded. Ex says he's even discussed coping strategies with his mentor. Maybe there's hope for him after all.

Now here's the bad news: if you'll recall, my divorce decree specifies five years of maintenance at $48K per annum, and we were to split the difference of my 401(k) and the proceeds from the house in Kirkland. We'd originally thought that was going to work in my favor, but neau, it worked in hers. She wants it tacked onto the end of the maintenance, meaning I'll be paying her until early 2022. The darkly funny part of this is that cupcake_goth and I were just talking about this last week. Speak of the devil. Ah well, at least I'm slightly more than halfway done.

I did the 50 to the train to the E line home, just barely making the train an the E. For the first time ever I made contact with a train door. It seems like a metaphor today.