The last of my belongings have been stored at Zelda’s house, although some things left in my custody I am keeping with me for safety’s sake.

Yesterday Othello and Troll went at it heavily until Troll laid the ultimatum of “help or get out.” Whereupon Othello, deciding that, since any decision he makes will be the wrong one, he may as well take the wrong choice that makes him happiest, left. Troll was enraged, Othello — ah, surge of pleasure, here — came over to Bridgette’s and my apartment for solice, and spent a pleasant day in Bridgette’s company.

Good sign.

I went swimming with Troll and bonded nicely (no, not chains and such, nor glue. Emotionally.), listening to her tell me that she is achieving a sort of understanding about why I may have left home. Another good sign.

Othello, Bridgette, and I then went off to the Deli and watched belly dancer belly dance, ate sandwiches, and then all three moved my stuff to Zelda’s. Othello stayed with us for the night, enjoying the new kitten and the couch and, I suspect, the lack of warfare in his immediate vicinity. He and Bridgette discussed closely his strategic situation at home, and he and I did the same later on.

Good, all the way ’round.

Bridgette and I are irritated all out of proportion with my going away this weekend for the national guard, but there’s nothing to be done but bitch and snuggle in advance, against the dry spell of two whole days apart. Well, three days and two nights.

Hell, practically forever.

Jeez, my adolescence is showing. Unsurprising; it’s a family trait to mature early, be terribly responsible for a decade or two, and then return to adolescence forever. I’m right on time, exactly on form, and, y’know, if I’m going to be with a woman entering her 30’s, it’s good that I’m entering my ‘teens.

Geekhaus II, the sequel to Zachary House, is no more. Lothario & Lumpy’s stuff is gone, mine is staged in the carport, and the place is clean. I’m glad to be out, but still felt a bit wistful as I closed the door a final time. Then again, being thoroughly moved out of the place has broken my stress, and I slept long and well last night, and snugglebunnies were had both before and after, very good things to have, indeed.

Tonight I go and swim with Troll, who called to initiate the play-date. Unusual. Tomorrow I play with Ed, and Friday through Sunday I’ll be gone for National Guard duty in Astoria. I don’t think I’ve been apart from Bridgette for two nights in a row for months. I’m not looking forward to it.

Then the moving from Bridgette’s and my apartment will commence in earnest. Eleven days.

Worked for the military yesterday, grinding out Mobilization Binders; large checklist-like dummy-guides for units that become mobilized in the event of war or such. Tedious and unpleasantly boring, and it provides less money than unemployment without actually furthering my employability in any way. On the way out, I got a phone call from Maj. Benz offering me two months of work in some sort of technical capacity in Medford, starting on the 11th of August.

Which would be the Monday after I move to the Medford area. We will be talking again this afternoon to talk about details, like, what I’d be doing and for whom. Apparently, she got my resume from someone in the Military Department with whom I’d been discussing my career issues while I’d been doing my annual duty here.

I showed my motorcycle to a prospective buyer, who is pleased with the bike if I can correct the sticky carb. We’ll see, on that one. What I’ll probably do is pump more cleaner through the engine and take it for a ride late this week when I’ve replaced the solenoid. I need this beast to sell; $1000 would go a long way to correct my money concerns.

Then it was off to Geekhaus, where I spent the rest of the night packing my stuff and staging it on the driveway for eventual movement. Lunk offered me his blender, bread machine, cookbooks, and assorted kitchen items and canned goods, all of which I was happy to have.

I managed bed by midnight, then had stress-attacks that kept me awake to 1:30. Bridgette lent a hand with assuaging those, and I slept. This morning at 6 I was very near my burn-out point, though.

I need to correct my money issues.
I need to get some bills under control.
I need to be packed and ready to move.
I need some free time to relax that doesn’t feel like I’m avoiding doing needful things.

Ah, stress.

12 days and we U-haul out of here for points south. Virtually all of Bridgette’s apartment remains to be packed, and a significant fraction of my old apartment still needs packing — and all of my stuff needs to be removed from the old apartment, no later than Thursday, since the lease is up then. Saturday Zelda and I packed a lot of it and staged the boxes in the living room, but there is still a few hours of work to do, and then some clean up. So Sunday I did laundry and picked blueberries and interacted closely with Bridgette, all of which was necessary and good, none of which was getting clear of that apartment. The close interaction was more than just necessary and good; it’s been three weeks or more since we have had the leisure to just be touchy-feelie homebodies and focus an entire day demonstrating that we enjoy that. So, hey, I’m glad and more than glad, and smug and giddy over yesterday.

But I didn’t get clear of the apartment. At all.

Not that I’m stressing. No, not at all.

Okay, I’m stressing.

But I still wouldn’t trade yesterday. All the tense bits inside are wonderfully relaxed and calm. Earthquakes, forest fires, and untimely commercial breaks will fail to raise my heart rate right now.

I’m selling my motorcycle in hopes of furthering various personal goals that require money, like buying iris for the garden and staying solvent. I need to finish work on the bike before it can be sold, but that’ll come, I think, later this week.

On an odd note, Zelda called and told me she is being evicted from her trailer park for having piles of garbage and an ugly, unkept yard for the better part of a year. On careful inspection of actual facts, she has 30 days to repair those issues or she will be evicted, so this isn’t quite the crisis it sounded. I agreed to lend what help I could, but I have to move twice in the next twelve days, so won’t be available for much until after that, and may be committed to my own issues after that. I’d as soon not make this my problem, in any case, but the kids live there as well, which makes the issue fuzzy…sort of.

Well. I’ll stay out of it as much as I can, probably entirely.

I have just been promoted from the ranks of Writer to those of Author by placing 3rd in a writing contest and getting actual compensation and publication for a piece of original fiction, the much-lauded Duck of Veneance.

The compensation was $25 in credit for third-rate software, but payment, however meager, is payment, and I am now, by my standards (set some years ago, the standard being, “if I write something, and someone pays me for the privilege of publishing what I wrote, that, that is writing professionally.” I will note here, since this parenthetical journey has already gone on far too long and I can do little more damage that has not already been done by carrying forward, that copywriters, assistant managers scribbling out menus for greasy-spoon restaurants, and administrative assitants pounding out office newsletters fall under that broad heading, but that is the hurdle I set myself, and the hurdle that I have now leapt.), an author, and earning actual living-wage along these lines is now merely a matter of continued effort and scale.

http://www.writeronline.us/contest-winners/shanks-7-14-03.htm

We have eight days in which to pack. Virtually none of it is done, for various reasons that seemed quite valid at the time of procrastination. The frenzy of stress is about to begin.

Then will come the move, and then a week of living virtually Bridgette-less while I finish out my military duty. Seeking to be as productive in my isolation as I can be, I contacted Ed and suggested that I’d have much time to spend, just he and I, and he should plan on me that way. I further told him that, unless all the forces of the universe were to gather and focus upon me, my will would remain unbroken and I would be seeing him; there would be no higher priority.

Ten minutes after mailing him this promise, Bridgette and I spoke on the phone, discussed the unreality of our plan, and changed the moving date to August 9. My time until then will be spent militarily, and then packing, and then gone. No social time to speak of.

I hardly ever see that sort of prompt stepping-up from the universe. Normally I get to live in my fool’s paradise for a day or so.