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Zero Dirty Dishes was a good achievement and a useful compulsion. You can own just two bowls and never be running out of bowls. Now this place has a dishwasher and I feel kind of like the people in Futurama who had to be re-taught how to produce trash.

After I sort out all the rest of this stuff I should probably look into how I might change my phone plan. It's a strange one: Unlimited data, as much voice as I'll ever need, but every text costs me another 20¢. Even though I spend most of my time in front of a proper keyboard I have to accept and adapt to how real people communicate.

papers please (-) 

They say you have to get a WA license within 30 days of moving here but they don't say or else what.

Getting utility bills to prove residency is proving to be a challenge. I'm told getting me into the electric billing system will take until December, and a person at Comcast apparently misheard my name as "Keys".

If you miss the school stress of believing one mistake on an exam will ruin the rest of your life, and tax day is good but not enough, then moving is for you.

Northwesters, what kind of dehumidifier should I be getting for my studio apartment? Is it enough for Hysure's quiet "peltier tech" to remove 300ml a day, or should I be getting a compressor model?

it was spelt that way on the van (+) 

So hey: I won't finally believe it until the key is in my hand tomorrow, but I DID IT. I'm going to be living in the same building as Xander, Cassie, Bea, Dai, Un, & Bentley, right down the hall. Throwing money at a problem sure helps, but having some friends around really has a way of fixing things.

housinge (-) 

It is dawning on me that I can't even think about being willing to try more expensive places, because it's not about what I can afford. It's about what some suits can _believe_ I can afford based on their limited understanding of my "income". As sure as I still am that I can only be sane in a space fully my own, I'm going to have to cast about for people accepting roommates instead. It's going to be disastrous.

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housinge (-) 

The Bothell place went to another applicant. And I wasted my time today trying to park semi-legally on a hazardously crowded little street in Ballard just to stand outside a building and be greeted by no one.


Aaagh, should I grab this $925 1-bedroom in Bothell, literally the first place I've gotten to look at, or wait a day and get stuck with the "microstudios" that remain on the market

housinge, dysphoria 

When I start to feel stupid for going to so much trouble and expense to transplant my life of total solitude intact, based mostly on an irrational attachment to the last place and time I got away with presenting feminine*, I have to remind myself there was a fire and I'd still have to be doing this no matter where I am.

*RainFurrest 2012. fecking hell.

Nothing like being so anxious as to have to lie down and hyperventilate for a while and then getting all that panic back in pure form an hour later because "If I'm napping, it means I fucked up" is the fundamental knowledge that fills in faster than who and where I am


Looking at Zillow is stressing me out. Choices are fewer than they were a month ago. I'm not sure how much room I really need to live in, but I shouldn't get too little. This hotel room is fine, but if I'm going to have all my books sent, I wouldn't want it cut in half.

Now, I _could_ have a sprawling 800 sqft for $800/mo, all utilities included, if I want to live an hour's drive away in Renton, accepting that no one will really want to see me too often anyhow. A dubious proposition.

late night dread (-) 

You have been spared from reading my passive-aggressive anxiety fits thanks to the backspace key. The Backspace Key: Bottle That Shit Back Up!

I need to remember to give myself a lot of credit for making this journey at all, instead of worrying that I'm boring my friends or that I haven't been drawing five badges and a comic strip in my motel room between meals.


Gee, I could hit the dance just to feel like I've been to this con at all, or I could go to bed right now because this feeling in the back of my throat terrifies me in the circumstances. As much as I am glad I caught some people's interest, spending the whole weekend busting my tail for small change was a foolish way to start this trip.

Oh wow you know what, if the first seasons of MLP:FiM had been in the '90s, there could have been a heck of a pinball machine. The sets of symbols, the character-themed missions, the quotes. "I have balls stashed all over Ponyville in case of ball emergencies."

But nobody's making new pinball now except this company called Jersey Jack Pinball. I agree with their mission, but I tried each of theirs and I can only describe them as "overwrought".

One more week. I'm working on the puzzle of what will fit in my car and how. My folks are starting to get back in the habit of persuading me to doubt my own wisdom at every step. I sure hope I know what I'm doing.

And the older machines that all play the same but by gosh those artists pushed the envelope of pure libidinous imagination in a way that beams straight into your brain and reminds you what it's like to be really be fascinated with a fantasy, no context, no backstory, just an image you can't stop thinking about.

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My day at the Silverball Museum Arcade was everything I'd hoped it would be. $15 for free play of everything all afternoon. So many old friends like Addams Family, Twilight Zone, ST:TNG. Many legends that I'd only had one crack at and never saw again until now: Theatre of Magic, Funhouse, Cirqus Voltaire, Medieval Madness. I put my initials into PINBOT.

I didn't do anything special today, but it's a very weird birthday all the same, and it bears marking. 47. To me, that number represents the one audio cassette I kept when I left the others behind with all my furniture. "Radio Show #47", a sketch show written by the one friend from college I still have, who I'll be visiting on my way across the continent. It all ties together.

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