I am packing up the remains of my life and posting them to my parents. I am fairly sure this will be less expensive than renting a truck. I would totally fly but Kato is an elderly cat, and a terrible traveler and so he is considered a very poor risk for sedation or flight. I can’t help but think that him howling for three hours at the top of his lungs will not be found acceptable by the other travelers.
So a car it is, and Bev Kaply and my dad have gotten cuter and cuter as they try to help me by researching doctors and going to the housing authority to see if they need to sign me up for services. It’s nice that they are so excited that I will be moving so close. We haven’t lived within 30 mins of each other in about 20 years, and I am as excited as they are, although probably less demonstrative about it, on account of MOVING MY WHOLE LIFE and stuff.
I am also concerned about leaving Grant homeless. I can only tell myself it’s bound to work out. I’d sacrifice a chicken, but Grant is allergic.
I ordered cat food and cleaning stuff from Amazon that has apparently disappeared into the ether along with my money. If it doesn’t show up soon, I am gonna have a fucking fit. For serious.
Anyway, I have to do dialysis, because apparently I will die without it, blah blah blah.

One of the weird miracles of my life is how nice people are to me. Total strangers will smile and talk to me in the market, on the street, in the lobby of my building. People are just generally nice to me.
And I am more and more grateful for that with each passing day.
As I try to figure out the logistics of this move, I am getting so much help and support. Grant has been a lifesaver, he cleaned out all my kitchen cupboards, bought me mac and cheese and that isn’t even the least of it. Sizzle brought me boxes and took my four huge bags of donate-able goods to some charity.
I have sold most of the stuff I own, to people who are making payments, which means I can still use the stuff until I leave. Win-win.
I am trying to find a way to get my stuff down to California and get myself down there with the cat. I think I may end up mailing most of my stuff and I have checked out renting a car ( EXPENSIVE) taking the train( not much cheaper) and a flight is out since you can’t ship a cat that late in the season. GAH.
Turning that shit right over. And did I mention how much I love my Mystery Sneakers? Because I love them with the burning passion of a thousand white hot suns.

I am in the process of getting a migraine so this is gonna be quick.
My friend, Cheryl, is a fantastic writer, a generous person and an all around good egg. I love her dearly, and today is her birthday. You, my seven loyal readers, should go to her blog and wish her many happy returns of the day.
Kato has devised a scheme where he meows at Grant until Grant gets off the couch and feeds him in the morning. Then Kato comes into the bedroom and meows at me and sits on me until I get out of bed. Then he continues to meow at me until I lay down on the couch, at which point, having achieved his objective, that damn cat curls up in my lap.
Bossy little bastard.
The moving plans continue apace. I have sold most of my stuff, despite the anxiety driven fear that no one would buy any of it and I would die, alone, in a ditch. So that’s a relief.
I also now have twenty years of sobriety, which is twenty years of me doing the bare minimum society expects of everyone else. But I continue to bitch about it.
Ok, off to the ice pack.

I am so tired of people who have jobs and health insurance and fairly good health talking trash about people who are on disability.
Most people get denied upon applying for disability at least once, oftentimes more. People who you might think were obviously disabled get refused.
And when you can’t work and you can’t get disability, you can’t pay rent or avail yourself of any other programs. You are, in the vernacular, fucked.
And then some jerk who has a job and a place to live and food to eat starts talking about how people on disability are cheats and liars and I suddenly want to stab people indiscriminatly.
Check your facts, people. Social Security Disabilinis not a welfare program, it’s a government run insurance program that each of us pays into every paycheck.
I worked from the time I was 13 until I was 30. I was just about to re-enter the workplace when my kidneys failed. It was hard to transition to not working, and the way that society views people like me didn’t help.
I have paid into this program. It is not a handout. And you can keep your fucking opinion of that to yourself, thank you.

Today is my best friend’s birthday, and you all know him as the Unbearable Hotness Of Robert, or Hotness, for short.
We met when we both moved to Seattle, and I liked him immediately. He is sartorially resplendent at all times, with his bow ties and such, he has forgotten more about music than I ever knew, and is invariably able to maintain his calm in the face of, well, me.
He is funny, sharp and smart. Very, very smart. Fathead has crowned him The Driest Motherfucker In Seattle, and Hotness definitely earns it.
Hotness is the one who keeps this blog running, keeps me from throwing recalcitrant electronics out the window, and prevents me from wearing orange.
In short, I love him dearly, am grateful I met him and know that I am all the better for having him in my life.
Many happy returns of the day, Hotness.