(seattle. central district. friday night. 1 am. drinking miso soup, at home.)
yes. at home. our new home–the bottom level of a house, the foundation for our next adventure, here in what we’ve heard is a transitional neighborhood formerly known as ghetto. perfect: we’re transitioning, or we transitioned (have we?). how quickly we doze in the post-transitional glow, ashing our cigarettes on the map we origamied into ashtrays shaped like half-full shot glasses, staring contentedly at the oddly near roof above our heads, amazed by what just happened, how much it meant to the both of us, now zipped up side-by-side in twin orange cocoons–the REI sleeping pods we never used, too sissy to camp in cold weather, but now, now that we’re home, we need our bedding, we need the random shit like my super sponge, half a bottle of peanut oil, and bags of 3/4 used hygiene products that somehow made it into the murano from philly instead of my spice collection and our printer.
we need each other to reaffirm back and forth that we made the right choice to stay.
ryan: did we make the right decision?
jenn: yes. did we make the right decision?
we wanted to live in this exact apartment even though we are paying twice as much for a unit entirely of our own, because we realized we need our space. we hate to tiptoe, and love to oof. and it’s a strange space—asian-friendly low-ceilings, the floor on level with the ground outside, such that the bottom of the window matches the top of the lawn. the apartment is a circle—we chase mati in laps on our mini carpet track. the 7 1/2th floor, a donut, our home.
and its best feature is the 6’2” alabaman who lives upstairs and goes by the given name will, and the indian name lives with asians. big will is the best stranger-friend we’ve met in a long time. he understands randomness. how it’s all randomness. he flipped a coin, and we were heads, and some other LOSER couple was tails. if we were tails, we’d be in portland today. but we were heads, so we got the phatty pad below his phattier pad, and more importantly, we now rent a part of big will’s incredible exuberance for all things life. big will is a plain-clothed superhero. for group hugging us. for bringing mati a welcome home bone and ryan a welcome home 6-pack.
we needed a group hug.
we needed an empty, quiet space.
(so that we could throw all our shit all over and not pick it up. EVER.)
in one closet, ryan has been sitting on the floor with the big mac, calling it his sound studio.
since yesterday i’ve had to replace the hours i spent each day figuring out where’s next. i have thus become obsessed with the “free” section of craigslist. without trying, we’ve acquired a queen-sized bed, a small desk, a TV, microwave, lean mean grilling machine, and other kitchen toys from big will. today big will’s equally kick-ass filipina friend mel gave us an orange corduroy love seat. we can’t wait to fill our new cave-like home with free furniture that never imagined itself together in one space. tomorrow we’re driving to a new stranger’s place to grab our new free computer desk and free entertainment center.
eventually, we’ll grab ourselves some new strangers for keeps.
in the meantime, i’m also waiting with my trigger finger on craiglist for a free queen-sized feather bed cover, coffee maker, printer, and kitchenware.
they shall cometh, friends. oh they shall cometh.
craigslist is seriously addictive.
so far, seattle is phenomenal. maybe it’s just the new city/new life buzz. rain, grey, and all—we’re going to do living better this time. we still want to come home. we still want to live in SF. in LA. in portland. mostly, we still want to live. so we decided to start with seattle. and group hugs.
tonight we watched requiem for a dream at a slant, as our projector didn’t quite survive the journey. after, we needed an 11pm pick-us-up—and after driving by a closed and severely misnamed insomniax cafe—we found an open late cafe nearby–bauhaus books and coffee.
i can’t label the crowd cluttering the second level without flinging clichés pollock-style at my white page. we’re all staccato clichés, some of us with less drip and more stick. some of us selling faster than others.
(i am a recovering insomniac. i shouldn’t drink spicy chai after sunset. i might not be able to get up in time for sleeping in tomorrow.)
this chai isn’t changing my life, but this effortful hip vibe might. i don’t remember a neighborhood in philly where everyone dressed the same. i find it kind of endearing, like it’s a homecoming spirit day. goth gone mundane. we’ve got the black leggings, yes we do, we’ve got the black leggings, how ‘bout you?
i shouldn’t judge so early. maybe another hour, another chai, and i’ll want a hoodie with hello kitty repeating skull print too.
i like a place where i could be cool just because i’m here. because there’s a total venn eclipse between possible coolness and the perimeter of this cafe. because i’m inside the eclipse watching the shadow fall over me. match me. enable me. because this is our longest stop—our 7 month motel for 2 + dog, our home paid for by ryan’s unemployment and as many liters of words i can squeeze out, methodically pumping my fists at even intervals, before being too drained to wake up and know who i am.
this cafe is a library turned cafe or most likely a cafe turned library—brick wall by book wall, matching books lined up on dark mahogany bookshelves, two ladders for the top shelves. i know if i climbed everyone would stare. what are ladders if they can’t be climbed. what are they there for. since when are 30* feet tall ladders accessories.
the music playing sounds like pulp fiction b-sides.
i miss the too sweet, soy creamy chai of philly.
i miss montana.
i miss the ONGS.
i miss being a bus ride away from harmonie and chad, scott, and lacy in bulgaria.
mostly, i miss not having more things to miss.
tomorrow night we’re having dinner at ellen’s—a friend from the glory high school days of studying for national latin examinations and marching band. i am sure we are much cooler people now, although maybe we’ll bust out some cicero and a flute-clarinet duet for old times sake.
already there is so much to say, to write, to reflect on. i feel like november 1st, our first uncertain homeless day in cambridge at melissa’s—was an entire year ago. our november was a year. an incredible fucking year. 2007 1/2. we are now both addicted to the road, and can’t wait to travel to portland, california, canada—but for today we were ready to have a room of our own, as my purse runneth over with mini-condiments, as our brains overfloweth with words, words, words.
this episode of choose our own adventure is brought to you by the letter ryan. without the letter ryan i wouldn’t be possible.
I LOVE YOU RYAN MOTTS!!!
just look at all the font emphasis styles i used to express my love!
bold + italics = true love
*i can’t estimate height. 30 = very, very tall.