Bleeding Fiction

The past two days have been an... interesting pair. Note that "interesting" is here not code for "happy" or any of its synonyms. In fact, you would likely do better to read it as "unfortunate." I'll tell you about them, in brief, in the rest of this post, but let me first pause to note that I can see the space needle from where I now sit. From this distance, I'm not impressed.

On Wednesday, I waited patiently for the moving truck to arrive; the truck that would carry most of my worldly possessions across the length and breadth of this nation, acquiring what dust from the road they could, to Seattle where I would greet mine boxes with open arms. The day wore on and the truck did not arrive. I called the moving company, I called the driver's cellphone. Midnight came with lumbering tread and still the truck was not in sight. So I left my house (my now-former house, I should say) for my parents' and my things remained behind. As I have terminated my contract with this company and left for the Left Coast, I leave my affairs in my father's hands. He'll find me a moving company that will complete, on my behalf, the sole task to which their business is dedicated and my things will arrive post-haste. I hope.

Wednesday night I also bid a not-quite-tearful farewell to Erik. I've lived with him for the past eight years, in some form or another, and his presence has become a constant in my life. Even failing the occurance of actual communication betwixt we two - that is to say, even if I were in one room and he another and we didn't actually speak to each other - it was mostly nice to know a good friend lived under the same roof. Being alone is, perhaps, going to be my biggest adjustment. I'm looking forward to it, but in many ways I regret it as well.

Thursday morning came with too much haste - not surprising when I had set the alarum to ring at four. I showered, dressed and trundled off into the early morning night with my father. We crossed the George Washington Bridge and I took a last look at the New York City skyline as we talked over the final details of my move.

The sky was still dark as we pulled into JFK and I went through the airport check-in ritual with indifference. I was awake and aware - it's a small gift, to be awake when I'm awake, no matter the hour - but the airport officials had no interference to throw my way, for all that I was dirty and unshaven, with copious baggage and a one-way ticket.

I slept through the 5 hour flight and, a quick bus-ride later, was in the University District. The only hotel with space enough for me, the College Inn, is a self-described "European Style" hotel. This means that the furniture is small, uncomfortable and wooden and also that the residents of a floor share two bathrooms, occupacy of which is split along gender lines. I'd prefer a larger room with comfortable chairs and a TV and a larger bed, but the College Inn is a temporary thing and not an obstacle to my peace of mind.

After check-in, I went in search of an apartment. I did this mainly through the ingenious scheme of walking up and down the streets, dialing on my cell phone any phone number I saw advertising rooms for rent. Within half an hour, I'd found myself an apartment near and spacious enough for my needs. It's not an ideal place - the bathroom's only entrance, for example, is through the bedroom - but it's nice enough for that and also only temporary.

Here is where my tale disjoints. I wandered up and down the streets of the University district for more hours than I care to count and saw more than I can now remember. Asian restaurants abound, to the point where finding other food will be a challenge. There are bars and cafes a-plenty (including, of course, a Starbucks). But I'm too tired for these things. I've travelled too far today and eaten too little (which is to say, nothing at all). I wait now only for dinner and a relaxing perusal of the printed word before I drift off to slumber and mine orientation tomorrow.

Before I go, however, let me note for posterity that I am lonely now. In this late hour I miss the familiar comforts of the places I've been before, I miss the solid warmth of friend and love both near and far and I desperately long to come home. I know the feeling won't last, but in the meantime, send me some fucking email to keep me company.