Nasty, uncomfortable things!
As my dedicated readers (all three or four of them) are probably aware, Rainbow's End is being sold. It goes on the market, in fact, in a couple of weeks. (BTW, if you want a superb 6-bedroom house in West Seattle, complete with concert hall, ...) In order to present the place in the best light, we have vacated the top two floors, replaced the carpets, and removed the stair lifts. Colleen and I have been sleeping on our sofabed in the Rainbow Room.
Saturday, we moved. Or, rather, went out to a terrific Japanese restaurant in Port Townsend to celebrate the Younger Daughter's birthday, while our moving crew hauled what turned out to be three truckloads of stuff to the apartment. The plan was for us to drive home; pick up (cat) Ticia, (guinea pig) Clea, and (guitar) Plink; come back to an apartment full of boxes; and get settled in. Um..., not quite. In retrospect, leaving Clea at home was the best decision I made all day.
Because the keys, with the all-important fob that gets one into the building and then the elevator, slipped off a box and went through the crack between the elevator and the floor.
Meanwhile, I was driving home. Attempting to follow slightly confusing directions, on a phone that suddenly did not have a visible display! It was particularly confusing because I had missed a turn, and the phone was trying to direct me to turn around. But I didn't know that, either. I pulled off at an intersection in Kitsap that had a convenience store where I could use a bathroom, and switched to Colleen's phone. Fighting, again, with Google Maps, that wanted to direct me to a route it thought was faster, using a ferry. The last thing I needed was to wait an hour or two if I missed the ferry. Of course, I spent nearly that long in a traffic jam in Tacoma.
The traffic jam in Tacoma was where N called me to give me the bad news about the keys. The backup plan was to get buzzed in using the building manager's door code. Which worked fine until I used it too many times figuring out how to keep the garage door open, and said building manager started sending it to voice mail. (I'd thought that it was automated. Nope.) Leaving me outside in the cold, Colleen and Ticia inside waiting for an elevator, and both our phones, plus the litter box that actually had litter in it (we'd sent an empty one ahead), in the van.
After some kind person finally let me in, we proceeded to the apartment. Which is where we determined that we had no phones, no cat litter, and no way of getting back into the elevator after getting them. After meltdown, panic attack, or whatever it was, I proceeded to knock on doors until I found someone who actually opened the door and said they would buzz me in. I arrived downstairs just about the same time as the police, who were investigating an apparent intruder who was knocking on peoples' doors. This is apparently a standard MO for homeless people in the area.
Fortunately, at this point I was well beyond the panic and able to see the humor in the situation, so I had a pleasant conversation with one cop while another went upstairs to knock on my door to confirm with Colleen that we actually lived there.
It wasn't until I got back to the apartment that I took a good look at the phone and realized that the screen wasn't dying, it had just had its brightness turned all the way down. I also figured out that setting up my phone to let people in couldn't be done without having an account set up on dwelo.com. And we had a nice visit from the young lady who had called 911 to report me.
I've lost track of how many anxiety meltdowns I had; at some point I got over the panic and had a nice bout of acute depression.
We have spent the rest of the weekend in the apartment, finding out what's missing and what we have to send back to Rainbow's End to go into the storage pod after all.
Today has been cozy and domestic, sorting through boxes and figuring out which things we actually have room to keep in our apartment's tiny cabinets. And eating veggie, because while I was able to find two cans of crabmeat, the only can-opener we had was a battery-powered one that Colleen had just purchased. Batteries not included.
Oh, and did I mention the scratches I got as I attempted to corner a terrified Ticia and get her into her carrier? Those too.
Meanwhile, here we are.
posted late because my emacs client is flaking out. Probably due to the HTTPS redirection.
Series blurb: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.
Chapter blurb: Harry and Sirius try tackling how to catch Peter Pettigrew. Harry also has a thought about the dementor memories that has Lupin and Dumbledore concerned. Ron and Harry start trying to figure out how Hermione is getting to all her classes, by using the scientific method.
Links to book 3, chapter 6:
Them: Humour is humour, jokes mean nothing.
Me: If you really believe that, you are an idiot.
Them: I'm a firm believer of. “Words mean nothing.” why trivialise something so… intangible and dumb? They are so subjective that does it really matter?
Me: Clearly you were never bullied growing up, nor experienced any kind of verbal abuse from anyone. Words mean things; if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be words. And words can hurt. Words can leave scars that never fade, deep emotional scars. Words can even kill; people can be bullied so badly, even with “just” words that they commit suicide. And slurs and racist/oppressive words have hundreds or even thousands of years of pain and hatred and death behind them. When you joke about something like “kill all Jews,” you’re declaring to the world that you’re siding with a very long history of pain and death. Whether you mean to or not, you are hurting people with words like that. Trivializing those words trivializes the pain they cause. You might as well be pointing and laughing at someone as they’re being beaten bloody by a dozen people at once when you say shit like “words mean nothing” or “it’s just a joke.”
If you can say “words mean nothing” with a straight face, you’re either really stupid or you’re emotionally/verbally abusive yourself. If the former, that’s sad and I’m not in the mood to waste further time trying to educate you. If the latter, I want nothing to do with you ever again for what I feel should be obvious reasons, given what I’ve already said.
Alex is... Interesting. Compassionate but paranoid and misanthropic. Humor trends toward sarcasm, puns, and insults. Very rational in some ways but very emotional in others (like disregarding logic when in arguments regarding something he's really passionate about). Passionate but also apathetic a lot. He manages to be both a pessimist and an optimist at the same time.
Also gonna add: Loyal to friends and loved ones but betrayal can turn his loyalty and love into hatred and revenge seeking.
The following timeline is based on a marathon viewing of the entire Back to the Future trilogy. Some departure/arrival times are necessarily approximate. Red times indicate departures, blue arrivals. Important dates/times are bolded.
|I||Sat||Oct 26||1985||01:20||Einstein is first time traveler|
|Sat||Nov 05||1955||06:00?||Arrival in barn|
|Sat||Nov 12||1955||22:04||Lightning strikes clock tower|
|Sat||Oct 26||1985||01:24||Twin, er, Lone Pine Mall|
|II||Sat||Oct 26||1985||10:35?||"We don't need... roads."|
|Wed||Oct 21||2015||16:29||Mill Valley, the future|
|21:00?||Everything's fixed now, right?|
|Sat||Oct 26||1985a||21:00?||Near miss by jet|
|Sun||Oct 27||1985a||01:00?||A quick exit from Biff's Casino|
|Sat||Nov 12||1955||06:00||Back from the future|
|Mon||Sep 07||1885||08:15?||Trestle over Eastwood Ravine|
|Sun||Oct 27||1985||11:00||Time machine destroyed|
By my count, that's:
7 days in 1955
1 day in 2015 and 1985a
1 day in 1955 (doubled up on previous visit)
5 days in 1885
Which means that Marty McFly experiences 14 subjective days in 1 day and 9.5 hours by the clock in 1985.
And a very exciting two weeks it was, too.