Wow, I was having a very bad day in that last post. The truth of it is that the bad days are far less frequent now than they have been for the past fourteen years, and now I do have people who love me and help the best they can. I am lucky.

Today I'm having people over to my new place in Seattle to grill prawns as big as my fist, wagyu steaks and asparagus. I may even go up on the roof this afternoon for puppy social hour, dog or no dog.

I just made my last trip to Portland for a while. I got my car, made the flat tire stupid rental car someone else's problem, spent $50 on Cajun food and saw some people I'm definitely going to miss.

I'm glad to be home, though. I'm happy that Seattle seems like home already.

Now that the kinks have been ironed out, Seattle is splendid. I've been buying lots of amazing fresh food at the market, and doing amazing things with it. More to come once I've gone back to Portland to get my car.

Question: how many maintenance requests can we fit into the first two days in a new apartment?

Answer: So far eleven, but the day is not yet over.

Strangely, we're still happy with the place and are glad we moved.

I love that I live in a world where my favorite TV show can be a crazy Japanese day-long sporting event. I am seriously mad for Sasuke. I also love that I can sit in my living room and watch it, complete with Japanese commercials, rooting for my favorite competitors. You know how people who take football really seriously yell at the screen and stuff? That's me watching Sasuke.

My husband and I hope that by watching enough Sasuke, we'll eventually be like these guys:


Who, of course, learned English from watching Howard Cosell.

And now back to my favorite show. I hear someone wins in this series!

Well, we now have a lovely new apartment in Seattle. It was originally set up as a handicapped apartment, so it has two peepholes in the front door; one at eye level, and one (as my husband says) at butt-showing level. Our building also has puppy social time on the roof every Sunday. I think I'm going to be happy there.

A strange man in a yellow hat has been staring at me and stroking a jumbo box of Cheerios for about twenty minutes. I'm a little creeped out.

Oh, great. Now he's whispering to the box. He must be reporting back to his superiors about me.

We have a go-ahead.

Goodbye, Portland. You've been unnecessarily harsh, and I don't think I'll miss you. This whole year has been for the most part deeply unsatisfying.