Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

The background: Dancer had some stuff stored in her friend E's basement in the south end. E has to move out of that house, so the stuff has to go somewhere, too. So yesterday from noon to 1700 was another adventure in helping Dancer move.

The plan: borrow her ex-boyfriend's pickup.
The catch: said ex-boyfriend lives in Kirkland, and the ramps to the most convenient bridge across Lake Washington were closed for construction all weekend.

So! We drive around the north end of the lake, get the truck, and then spend over 80 minutes getting from Kirkland to the friend with the stuff, who coincidentally lives an easy walk from my ex.

We spend the next couple of hours schlepping bins out of a dusty basement up stairs that were build by someone who can't do math and was apparently under 5' (150cm) tall. At first I expressed doubt that we'd get it all in one truckload, but we did. Just barely. In the rain.

Fun fact: E's 21-year-old son is a cat boy. Well OK then! But he did help us load a little.

Got to the storage place. Unloaded mostly without incident. Dancer began losing the ability to, you know, verbally express thoughts. Now that I'm writing this, it reminds me of how some people (ahem) go non-verbal during BDSM scenes. She got topped by her own possessions, though, not by me.

Punch line: we'd put 95% of the stuff in the storage space and were loading one last small piece of furniture, but the building locks the elevators at 1700, not 1800 as Dancer thought. She had to sweet talk the security dude just to be able to go back up and lock up her unit.

But for any practical purpose, we finished. We returned the truck to Kirkland, and then Dancer took me out for nice ramen at Northgate. Needless to say, nothing R-rated happened, unless they put R ratings on gay smooches. This was very much by mutual consent.

I'm not in any pain right now as long as I don't have to bend or lift anything. I have no plans for today aside from the usual Sunday chores around the house, and I'm so OK with that.

Moral: Dancer really needs to go through all that stuff in her storage space and weed out what she doesn't want.

I enjoyed spending yesterday evening doing nothing related to the move. Tonight looks to be similarly move-free. The weekend, however, will more furniture assembly and laundry at Ex's. Le sigh.

I used my oven for the first time: cornbread, natch. The new oven gets up to temperature more slowly than my old one, possibly because it's bigger. But it does bake stuff, even browning the top of the cornbread. I believe it has an internal fan. And waiting for frozen butter to melt on the stove is a thing of the past. Even on the smallest burner on its lowest setting, melting a stick of butter gives me barely enough time to mix the rest of the ingredients.

Oh: my son had a fender-bender in a parking lot eleven days ago. He never told me; I found out from my insurer. For someone who loves to drive so much he's not very good at it. Or is he, as Comfy Lady says about her own son, just freaked out by people on the bus? That's a possibility.

At least I'm going out tomorrow night with Shiny H. Yeah, she's a much younger woman whose sexual orientation I don't even know, but I do enjoy hanging out with her. I have my outfit planned already.

Two weeks to the day after I got the keys to the house, I have unpacked the last box that I'm going to unpack anytime soon. The remaining boxes are camping gear, circumflatulation supplies, sex machines that didn't work for me, or seldom-used household items. These boxes are all chilling in the loft with me right now, mostly hidden from view from below by the Pride and Trans Pride flags I have hanging from the railing.

One of the last boxes I believe came from my grandmother. She seems to have saved every letter that my father ever wrote to her, and Dad loved to write letters. There were even a few letters from my uncle, my cousin, and me. I feel like a criminal for doing it, but I recycled the letters after reading a few of them. I'm the only person with any interest in them at all, and I don't have much. We are, after all, talking about the man who proposed torturing me into being cisgender.

So what's next? Furniture. I have a bed and a sofa that are supposed to come on Sunday. Also, getting rid of the cardboard boxes that I just emptied and the trash – mainly clothing that isn't fit for donation – that I've accumulated over the last few days of unpacking. I figure the next transfer station run(s) should wait until after I'm done with the furniture.

But! I feel as if I've turned the corner on the move.

I had to call to cancel my old electricity account because they had my middle initial wrong. That's right: I never got around to getting it right for the ten years I lived at the old place. While I was on the phone, I told them to deliver my damn solid waste bins already. I should be all set for utilities early next week.

I have unpacked my jewelry. I no longer look and feel like a frumpy, camping savage.

I put milk in my tea today. Twice. I put milk in my oatmeal. I cooked beans and rice and put them in the fridge, where they will last for several days. I don't take that for granted quite the way I used to.

The coven couldn't come over last night. I drank beer without them.

Because I'm a genius, I scheduled furniture delivery for Sunday, with a window of 0900-2100. (?!) I have a hot date with Comfy Lady on Saturday night. She's being very understanding about it.

What better way to celebrate this afternoon's establishment of cable internet connectivity to the Devil Girl House than to write a Dreamwidth entry?

I got the keys in my hot little hands at about 1615 Thursday. I moved the last of my stuff. I'm pretty sure I forgot to clean out the medicine cabinet, which contained my perfume, and I seem to be missing part of a vial of estradiol. Le sigh.

Oh by the way, I also tested negative for COVID on Thursday. My cough is doing a long fade, though.

My fridge doesn't cool, even though the lights and controls work. Not to panic, though: it's under warranty. My agent is on the case. Upside? This has been an excellent excuse to grab lunch at Uneeda Burger and dinner with Comfy Lady at Le Coin.

Speaking of Comfy Lady, my lingering cough seriously degraded the evening I spent with her, even though it was deliberately planned not to be taxing on me. Comfy Lady has expressed a desire for more... action. She shall get it, once I'm feeling better.

I at least have all the boxes in the right rooms now. The bathrooms are unpacked, and the kitchen is nearly so. The bedroom and the living room are still to come. But! I found my clean underwear and I dug through boxes to get what I wanted to wear on my date.

Internet: connected, as I said. The Xfinity people are bad at talking to each other, and I suspect some of their helpsters of trying to game their own metrics. But the dude who came here ascertained the situation – cables sticking out of the house into nothing but air – and Made It Go. New modem, better speed, no need for a repeater. Aw, yeah.
Bed: ordered from IKEA. It should have some good attachment points. Ahem.
Bookshelves: maybe enough, also coming from the mighty Swedes. The bookshelves have no kinky purpose that I've thought of. Yet.
Washer & dryer: on order from Albert Lee. They're small, but they'll be in my house, and they'll be mine.
Blinds: Waiting for someone to get back to me. I really don't want to do my own installation, and doing my own measuring makes me a tad nervous.

The trash, recycling, and donations are piling up. Since the bins aren't here yet I think I'll be making a transfer station run next weekend.

Oh: I don't need ear plugs to sleep in this house because I'm not right on a bus route. Once I get the blinds up maybe I can ditch sleeping in a leather mask. I mean, I'll be a little sad about that, but fewer sleep lines are good.

[There is nothing kinky in this entry, and that makes me sad.]

Welp, I'm not closing tomorrow. The city hasn't done the inspection that's required of new construction. If I remember correctly, the inspector just didn't show up on Tuesday as promised, and then the inspector and seller missed each other yesterday. This wasn't my doing. I'm not entirely sure whose failure this was, but I'm certain it was neither mine nor my agent's.

"But SistaWendy," I hear you say, "You have movers scheduled for Saturday! The no-parking signs that the movers wanted are in place!" That's right, and that's why I just signed something to release the earnest money. My agent says the seller was a tad nervous about my putting a buttload of my stuff in what will still technically be their place without some kind of compensation, liability mumble mumble.

So that's three more days of sleeping on the floor and otherwise camping in my own apartment. I busted open three boxes to get more socks and underwear, then taped the boxes shut again. Upsides:

1. There's no pressure to pack the last minute stuff for the movers because I'll need the last minute stuff in the apartment until well after the movers are done.
2. I had the sense to give myself some overlap between when I have to get out of here and when I can get in the new place.
3. I can get lots of cleaning done once the apartment is empty without making a special trip back here.

I'll tell you what, though: I'm not doing any more packing for the rest of the evening. I'm on strike for better conditions. My back is unhappy in a couple of places. I told work that I'm taking tomorrow off for the closing anyway, so I have all of tomorrow to finish. It isn't as if there's anything else to do here.

Special to minim_calibre: I think you were right. It isn't the evil mildew that's making me cough and sneeze; it's a good old-fashioned cold like we used to get in the before times.

Oh: I'm going to have to keep my work laptop and networking gear here so the movers can move the desk I'm slumped in front of. Mayunn, blast and botheration. I guess time will tell if Comcast Xfinity actually switches me over to my new place as I told them to.

Left to pack:

• my dresser
• my built-in drawers and wardrobe right next to my dresser
• my small bedroom bookshelves
• my work computer and network gear, after EOD Thursday; my personal machine is packed
• the art on the walls except what was either too delicate or too large
• the few dishes I left out
• the stereo – I need it playing for morale
• the printer
• the bathroom
• my drying rack, which just means wrapping it with film
• my storage space in the basement

All this despite Lambert House stuff this evening. I am Sista Wendy, Mother Superior of Our Lady of Corrugated Cardboard! Grawr!

I got up before 0600, had two cups of tea instead of the usual one, and started packing. Well, actually, first I dismantled my loft bed, which every woman I've dated despises. No one shall ever assemble it again, not least because I'm pretty sure I got rid of the instructions. The bed is currently right outside my apartment. Gosh, I've got to dispose of it somehow.

What am I going to sleep on tonight? My sleeping bag on top of an insulating mat. Burning Man gear for the win, baby.

But I'm declaring victory over the living room: everything that was in it is packed, including the contents of the capacious 1950s built-in cabinets but excluding my houseplants. I packed about half the kitchen, including the time- and paper-consuming glassware. I have nine (9) cubic feet of shoes and especially booootz.

I've packed my non-work laptop. I've packed most of my dishes. Tomorrow I'll be packing most of my clothes. Can I stand a week of frumpiness? We'll see.

The weather has been gorgeous today, and I missed it. I got my revenge, though, by eating deli dinner outdoors and walking up Phinney Ridge for a beer, a chocolate, and Duolingo in the sun. Those are some mighty fine stickers on the trash cans.

I got an email from a techno crew that I've heard of saying that I'm on the guest list for tonight at the Monkey Loft. There's a local DJ I like, Pezzner, headlining. Ah hah. Ah hahahah. It is so not happening for me. It's all I can do to go downstairs to fetch my sleeping bag.

Honestly, I'm astounded at how much stuff I've managed to pack into the little Devil Girl Pad. Yeah, I know I've had nearly ten years to do that, but even so. This apartment is... not large.

And from the Dept. of Things Working Out: I had a pair of patent(ish?) platform fetishy boots that are a little too small and that I wasn't sure about taking with me. When I tried to separate them for packing, some of the vinyl adhered to the other boot. (Was it last summer's heat wave?) Anyway, those boots were suddenly so damaged that wearing them again was not an option.

I've moved back to Seattle. Much thanks to apestyle and my son for helping me with the furniture.

By the numbers:
Trips across Lake Washington in a rented van on Saturday: 2.
Meals I ate at Beth's: about 0.75. They're huge.
Amount spent at IKEA yesterday: $632 and change.
Hours late to walk Bigpuppy because there is no such thing as a quick trip to IKEA: 1.5.
Value of IKEA items accidentally destroyed: about $25.
IKEA items assembled last night: 3.
IKEA and other items remaining to be assembled: 3.
Number of circuits of Green Lake walked: about 0.5, round trip, in a glorious sunset.
Bins unpacked so far: 3.
Bins left to unpack: 13.

Today was my first day at the new job. I have to say, I've gotten farther in one day here than I did in one week at PrevCo. People have been helpful. I could weep for joy.

I've discovered that I have a nasty situation, though, regarding Nibs and (What else?) health insurance. Because of the gaps in the coverage dates, I need to buy COBRA ASAP if I want to avoid sticking her with a three-month approval process for pre-existing condition. Remember, she needs those infusions every four weeks or she's an invalid. At least now I know the dates that COBRA has to cover, and I can buy it retroactively.

Believe it or not, they're still giving me new things to do with my four three! and a half days left on the job. So far I've succeeded in not laughing out loud. I had one last lunch on campus with m'boy, and I'll be having one last gay lunch tomorrow. Come late Friday afternoon, there will be copious good sake and munchies from Uwajimaya.

Nibs got a free night at Salish Lodge, so she spent it last night with Mr. Right Now while I spent last night camping at the old place.

Packing begins tonight. Thanks for the plastic crates, dianala. Nibs was concerned enough for my back that she gave me a bunch of produce boxes for my books. Aw!

I've cooked all of the perishable food that I had in the house. It should be eaten by the end of the week. I've been obsessively making lists of stuff I need to buy, all nice and categorized; I've never, ever in my life lived alone before.