In the last six months, my life has been a whirlwind of hardship. I have moved between three different states, finally landing here in Everett, Washington where I am living with my mother for the first time in more than half a decade. It's only slightly depressing. I have taken over her sewing room, still bedless, sleeping on a foam mat on the floor. It's like one really long, crappy camping trip.

All of my belongings are in a storage unit in Ogden, Utah. It's been there for more than six months, and will probably be there for another six or more until I can afford to get an apartment, and a moving truck to get all my stuff the 900 miles to Washington. I can live without. I just wish that I had all my costuming supplies.

I have a little less than a month to create at least two pieces of garb for some harp playing that I am doing at the Washington Renaissance Faire. I was asked to perform there, and gladly agreed, but realized that I am going to have to crank together a couple outfits, if not more. Ugh.

All that aside, I am pretty lonely here in Washington. I left two-year old friendships in Utah, people that I was just learning about in Portland and am now back again in Washington. All of my childhood friends are further north in the islands where I grew up and this far south, I just feel lost and alone. It's hard being here, where public transportation sucks and riding my bicycle is dangerous. I miss the bicycle friendliness of Portland. I miss reliable buses and having a car and friends with cars. The thought of just "hanging out" with someone seems so foreign to me right now. I am sure that it will get better.

Namaste.

Well, I am not one much for making introductions, so I will just do as the link requested of me; to blog.

My brain has been tearing itself into five different directions. After picking up some part-time shifts at the restaurant, mostly to avoid the real work that I have at home, I am left exhausted over the four days of work that was required of me. So, that brought me to Thursday night, at last free of the restaurant which I only work at because I want to get "out of the house." Bah.

I was resolved to spend the evening relaxing. Honestly I was. It wasn't meant to be, however. I found myself a hop, jump and a skip over to my storage unit, loading up seven large tote bins into my car. I did the last thing that a procrastinator can do before they have to admit that they are really trying to avoid getting down and working, which is chapters behind where it should be in the course of things. . . I cataloged the contents of the bins.

That's not really fair to say just that. I went through them and threw quite a bit into a give/throw away pile. Then, I created a category system for each bin group. After returning them this morning, I brought eight more home with me, and have just finished with them, along with a day's worth of "beating around the bush." I was able to at least look at my writing. Read through some paragraphs, and make an excuse to walk to the grocery store.

The sky is overcast and the flag in the distance, illuminated by a spot light, is beating against the invisible tormentors. There is the smell of snow on the air. A storm, perhaps. This would be a good time to curl up with a good book and sip some tea. Forget the deadlines and the obligations. Just relax in the fact that I have a comfortable bed and warm blankets to huddle under.

Namaste.