Tomorrow morning Velvet and I are going out apartment hunting with the real estate agent. Note that I have called my child "Velvet" again. After a brief consultation he said, "I don't care what you call me on your blog, but I like Velvet." Ergo: he remains Velvet. Maybe Buster Velvet, but Velvet nevertheless. For the uninitiated, he is named Velvet after this character:
It's good to have him here, especially right now because I think if he weren't here, I might give in to the fear welling up inside me at the moment. It's kind of scary to be moving from my home of 17 years on June 14th. It will be better when I know where we're moving. And I can't even hold the thought of surgery in my head more than a few minutes right now - although I have to follow up on all that medical stuff by the end of the week. I need to schedule the procedure for around July 1 so I have time to recuperate before school starts in the fall. I'm on the right path right now, but the timing needs improvement.
Today we took things up to my classroom at the church on the hill and down to the storage unit with Buzz Kill. I meant to clean closets yesterday, but I had done such a good job getting rid of superfluous stuff that there's nothing left to jettison. The problem now becomes finding a place to put it all. For years, everything has been in its proper place, and now there's no place at all. I'm almost positive that we'll find a place tomorrow: A great place in almost every way, except that it will cost more money than I wanted to spend. At least I realized there was no way I would find a place I liked for the money I wanted to spend. That's how it is with most things, really.
Fortunately, I'm in a position to simply pay my rent for the year up front so that there won't be any trouble with my salary being lower than landlords prefer. All things considered, I'm a very fortunate female. My dad will be arriving on the 12th to support me through this transition. He walked me down the aisle when I married Buzz Kill, and now he's helping me walk away. June 10th would have been our 22nd wedding anniversary.
June 10th is the fifth anniversary of the fateful Gemini party which had to be cancelled because Buzz Kill had gone through the trash and found the story about the black man with a dick the size of a maglight. Buzz Kill was crushed by that story which explains why he thought it would be a good idea to read it at the party. I really do wish that the housekeeper had come as scheduled and emptied the trash before he got home from India. I never meant for him to find that story - or at least I didn't consciously mean for him to find that story. Most everyone I know believes it was my most spectacular Freudian slip. Oh Well, what's done is done. And besides, if he hadn't found that story, he might still be living here and I'd have been locked up in Four Winds forever.
Despite the bitter fights, Velvet is much better off this way. I am too - but I can't help wondering what would have happened if Buzz Kill had never found the story so that the party was never cancelled and all those gay porn stars would have been over here drinking Epiphany Punch (Vodka, Triple Sec, Lemonade, Sprite and a splash of Tequila) with the specific mission of determining whether Buzz Kill is gay or if he needed a woman with a strap on. It would have been nice to have that question settled once and for all, and I'm still convinced that a room full of gay porn stars would have been able to sort it out.
I'm not so sure what's happening with Mr. Amsterdam. He reappeared like gang busters, but I've got the feeling he is more interested in my ass than me. That may not be a bad thing. I'd like a man to be interested in my ass, but he has a way of asking simple questions, then pursuing answers until he hits one of my sore spots. In a way, it's working for me because it's all done in a series of short emails over a few hours - so it's not like I'm having to get out of my pajamas and put on lipstick. And it seems like he and I have similar energy ebbs and flows - which is also a good thing.
I'm ready to forget the whole thing tonight, though. I'm resisting the urge to tell him so because I'm pervasively vulnerable at the moment and it's unwise to make policy decisions when you're pervasively vulnerable.
The only decision I need to be making right now involves an apartment. A new home for me and Velvet, temporarily, until I figure out where I want to buy a place. I'm thinking it's a good thing we sold the apartment now for an excellent price to somebody who works for Banksters so they can get a mortgage without a bunch of bullshit. Plus people have started moving into the building next door finally. It sucks balls to look out my window where there used to be a sunset and see some asshole unloading groceries in his luxury kitchen. The building isn't any closer to this one than any of the high rises on the East Side or in Midtown - which is why we could sell for such a good price. When you remember the sky and clouds turning golden pink, though, it sucks. So again, we're getting out in the nick of time.
We'll be living somewhere in Harlem. Either over by Adam Clayton Powell Blvd and Malcolm X or up Broadway in an area they're calling Sugar Hill. I'll still be able to walk to work, which is my main priority, and the buildings up there are farther apart and typically only six stories or so. Plenty of sky, and if I'm lucky, another sunset out the window.
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