Posts Tagged ‘home’

Wednesday, November 4th, 2015

I woke up this morning missing my bed. I’d had that bed for 14 years and loved it that entire time. It had been a bed lifted off the floor with various frames and posts and it had been a mattress on the ground and in those and in all the incarnations in between it was still perfect. It was soft but not too soft and thick but not too thick. It was the perfect size for me and small enough that not only could I manage to fit it most anywhere I moved to, I rarely invited anyone into it hastily. Along with my bed I miss my cats, both feline and human, who so often spent time in it with me. It was ripped and stained but still fresh and lovely after all that time. I miss my my ancient pale gold and olive green striped heavy comforter that I’d gotten when I bought that bed, that had once been stuffed with fluff but that I’d ripped open and sewn into just a blanket a few summers later. That bed was my last link to a lover and supporter of mine, who has loaned me the money to buy it when I got my first apartment of my own, and later let me pay them back via design work. I miss the sun and the lighting that so often surrounded my bed, even when I lived in flooding basements. I miss the countless throw pillows and blankets I’d accessorized my bed with over all those years. I miss how that bed was always there for me.

That bed was my friend.

Shed Lyfe: Commenced

Tuesday, December 2nd, 2014

I’m moved into the shed, and it’s basically heavenly. It’s warm, it’s comfortable, it’s just the right size of a project.

It seems I could in fact actually have a much smaller tiny house than I had anticipated having, presuming I had access to a shower somewhere.. but life has occurred, business is slow, and I’m once again off track to having enough finances to build when it’s time to move again.

I’m trying to settle into the 6 months of solace but am finding it difficult to do that, cause 6 months isn’t a long time and I’m so weary of moving and scrambling around, and it’s looking like I’ll be shooting again for a van or an RV or fucking something and will have to pare down even more than I already have *sigh* — but for now, I’m enjoying living on my own, and how cozy/comfortable this tiny space ended up being.

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We didn’t get to the window sils or finishing the painting before the plastic had to go up. Finishing that is on the project list for the spring before I leave, and I’m looking forward to it. Once the show in Tacoma is down in January, the upper walls will have stuff on them, too.

Road Trip Cancelled. Plan of Action: Engaged

Sunday, May 18th, 2014

I have, roughly, $6000 in unappropriated savings, at current.

I also have, roughly, 3 months left at my less-than-market living situation.

This has incited an exceptionally stressful dichotomy of needs; and a sobering wakeup call to how unbelievably fucking expensive it’s gotten to live out here.

I gave up the studio this month to slice my office rent, and started taking on more clients, 5 days a week. Exhausting, but working, too, I think.

The problem I’ve been most running up against, is that I don’t have anywhere viable to go, and I don’t have the savings required to buy or build my tiny house on wheels.

The secondary problem, is that the family whose property I have intended to live on has also been anticipating another year or two of time to prepare for me.

We’re all a wee bit stressed out.

I’ve run numbers on getting just a house shell on a trailer with no services or furnishings to crash in like a bum in a train car while simultaneously building the rest out as much as I can with whatever extra cash I can put into it over the summer.

I’ve run numbers on getting a shipping container and insulating it and welding a hole in the ceiling to build out the loft space for my bed, also no furnishings or services.

I’ve run the numbers on getting an enclosed cargo trailer high enough to put a loft in. Again, no furnishings or services.

All of these options provide me with no comforts, require me to pay to store everything I own, require that I find a place where I can build and weld with no building experience and an accelerated timeline, and cost ~$10k to do it right.

So, I’ve made the decision that I will be getting an RV to live in.

I want a tiny house, yes. I want a lot of things. But the bottom line is that I have managed to save up $6000 bucks toward freedom housing, and I need a place to live that CJ and I can move into in August. RV’s are where that’s at.

At this point in my life, more than needing things to be pretty and cute and designed perfectly, I need a place that is mine, that I can afford, that I can modify and count on, and that I can take with me; which was the root of what the tiny house project was meant to accomplish.

So, that means my road trip is cancelled. I’ll be flying directly to and from Palm Springs (I have a second room in my suite, would welcome sharing the cost with someone, and the airfare round trip from Seattle was a paltry $220; so if you think you might want to take your own Palm Springs vacation from June 12 to 17th, hit me up) to get my certification in grief recovery and come back immediately – to work, and search, and hopefully, find home.

It also means I’m selling nearly all of my stuff and furniture, which works out well since I’d like to manage a couple more grand over the next few months to get a nicer trailer with more to work with.

And lastly, it means I’m looking for a place to park and hook up; Land ho!

I’m pretty excited, and feeling ok about how things are shifting; If everything works out, having a home will be way better than a motorcycle vacation would have been.

Like, way better.

Dreeeeeam. Dream dream dreeeam…

Monday, February 24th, 2014

Whenever I want you all I have to do
Is dream

Conversion Rate: Saving for a TinyHouse

Friday, December 21st, 2012

No longer am I a person who holds the stifling and consistently disappointing belief that I must count on the concerted efforts of a parter, selling my soul to a horrible desk job or winning a lottery I don’t play to make home happen for me.

On this, the day the world should end, I have refunded $100 (THANK YOU <3) in mom-related donations that turned out to be unnecessary, converted my Finding Mom fund, into my Tiny House Fund, and put my first $200 into it.

The goal is at least 100x that to form a small down payment and an account with an interest-generating savings cushion to pay my eventual mortgage/loan on a tiny house (or for, potentially, the materials to build my own, or buy a used one).

Here we fuckin’ go.

Rock Lobster: Finding home

Thursday, December 20th, 2012

Ever since I can remember really, I’ve felt a deep sadness when passing seafood tanks full of crab and lobster in the supermarkets. The way they’re piled in on one another with their claws drawn shut, robbed of their dignity and eventually their lives, bothers me. Deeply, profoundly, seeing them treated that way has always felt so inhumane to me, so close somehow. Often times I will tear up.

I’ve wondered why it only consistently bothers me at this level with those species, as opposed to the other fish and living things. I mean, it’s not as if they’re cute, or as if they’ve ever been a significant part of my life. I’ve come to realize of late why I relate to them so much (even though they’re like, totally ugly and gross.).

In my recent leveling experience, one of the many things I’ve evolved about is my understanding and internal relationship with what I used to think of as my armor (which I now see as My Protector).

I’ve been thinking about, even though armor is meant to be versatile and removable, why it is, that when I work to strip it away, especially at the encouragement of becoming closer to someone else, it’s so utterly painful and uncomfortable and wrong feeling, and ultimately it doesn’t work.

It’s because what I’ve been thinking of as part of my armor isn’t my armor at all. It’s my shell.

Lobsters and crabs live in hard shells and must molt periodically in order to grow. They grow in spurts, much like I do, in an excruciating and all encompassing process which includes swelling themselves with seawater to the point that their shell splits and separates from their little sternums.

They then spend all their time and energy hiding in their burrows, writhing their way out, and once free of their old shells are completely fucking vulnerable until they grow and calcify their new, bigger shell, in part by eating what they’ve just discarded to nourish the process.

It takes all they have and more, as well as having the ability and instinct to create a hospitable and safe environment, to be able to live through this agonizing and dangerous growth process. And, you can imagine how painful and inefficient trying to peel their shell away at any other time might be.

Each time I’ve embarked on a dark night transformation life transition doohicky thing like what I’ve just experienced, this is what has been happening to my emotional body. It is utterly traumatic, incredibly painful, and encompasses all my resources to achieve.

I thought, when I first realized the distinction between a shell and armor a few weeks ago, that I would relate more to the Nautilus, which is a creature that moves to bigger and bigger shells over the span of its life, living inside of them, making them their home. Plus, you know, beautiful, and all that – and they get HUGE, which is something I relate to – some day I am going to be larger than life if I keep this up.

But, as it turns out, once again the universe shows me that not everything about me is pretty – and my shell is not my home, which is why trying to make it my home has failed me so.

I need to make myself a burrow. Someplace truly safe, that is mine, where I can go through these processes in peace. I understand now why I yearn so, so much for a house, a safehaven, a place I can belong, a place where I can grow and molt and suffer these tides in unabashed dignity. I thought it was about family and connection – it’s not. It’s about taking care of me.

It’s time to prioritize taking care of me. I want to build myself a tiny house, on a trailer.

It feels like the rightest thing I’ve considered doing in a long, long time – since December of 2006 when I decided to go to massage school and leave my marriage. It’s small, which caters to the part of me that enjoys working with little, and having a small footprint. It’s portable, which caters to, well, just about everything about me. And it’s cheap, which caters to my life situation.

Funny, how this shit seems to so frequently happen in Nov/December. Though it looks different depending on how I’m expressing it, I am fucking peeling apart my protective layers and literally growing out of myself almost every year when the weather turns cold. No wonder these months are always so hard for me.

P.S. Honk if you ended up with the B-52’s earwig from the title.

*HONK*!

Monday, August 6th, 2012

Brainstorming my forthcoming garden. :) it will have KALE. Oh yes, yes it will.

Tortured Internals

Wednesday, August 1st, 2012

Internal view of an abandoned home in Rio Linda, on Elkhorn Blvd. Taken in the summer of 2011 during my 2 week road trip. My guess is that by now it’s gone, as Rio Linda has been exploding in housing development since I left Sacramento in 1998, and I couldn’t find the structure on google maps today.

Starter Home

Wednesday, August 1st, 2012

Gorgeous abandoned home in Rio Linda, on Elkhorn Blvd. Taken in the summer of 2011 during my 2 week road trip. My guess is that by now it’s gone, as Rio Linda has been exploding in housing development since I left Sacramento in 1998, and I couldn’t find the structure on google maps today.

Wilted

Saturday, August 13th, 2011

I went back out there again. I can’t pass by the Dillard Rd. exit without going miles into nowhere to go drive by that lot and that shack and that tiny store along those uneasily familiar roads. My face is low and slack with a resigned, defeated horror from the moment I turn off the highway. My eyes immediately wet in a stinging regret as I do it, and still I’m compelled, and still there is simply something right about going out there and feeling through this.

This time I added the school I went to. I sat in the bus-only lane looking at my 3rd grade classroom, appearing even more like a prison than 20 years ago. The entire place is chainlinked now, the kids get locked in, and all the grass is paved over. Near one of the gates is a large sign explaining the school is overcrowded and it’s possible kids will get bussed elsewhere or simply transferred outright. The sprinklers watered the pavement rather than the grass. I’d forgotten that in the lot next door is a cemetery. That place was so fucking depressing I didn’t even consider taking a picture.

Whatever is still here for me is out there somewhere. I went to both the elementry schools I went to before and after Pleasant Grove and neither of them were so wretching. Leimbach was actually heartwarming, the school looks great. I went to the house my mother broke the windows out of when I was in 6th grade and remained largely unaffected. Yet looking at the new house that’s on the piece of land where the trailer we lived in once was, I fought the overwhelming urge to drag my wilted, bereaved self to their doorstep, crying like a mad woman.

I wanted to meet them. I wanted to tell them I grew up there, I didn’t know why I’d come, shivering like a tiny monster in the middle of the night. Some part of me hoped they’d recognize me, end up being the kids of the original landlords or something. I wanted them to take me in, to feed me, to comfort me and tell me it was ok for me to reach out, to show me their house and tell me what happened to mine.

I wanted to sleep out there somewhere. In a bush that I’d spend all day tomorrow picking out of my socks or on a floor or in my room that was either freezing or way too warm with that doll lamp and the adult contemporary radio station playing and that huge, deafening fan I insisted upon having on me so I could curl up under my thrashing sheet and pretend I was weathering an intense storm outside.

I was so. Fucking. Lonely. Out there.