Boyfriend accidentally woke me up at 6:30am this morning. On a Saturday. He didn’t really do anything wrong and if it wasn’t him it would have been a kid or a pet. Someone always manages to cause just enough waves on Saturday morning to wake the insomniac, who sleeps light in the early morning hours and who takes on average one to three hours to fall back to sleep so doesn’t even bother trying anymore. The brain is just hardwired to wake right up now so that I don’t sleep in and ruin the weekday mornings. Once the mind powers on, that’s it. I’m up.

Still, I slept terribly all week and it would have been nice to sleep in like a normal human being. Now I’m where I usually am on the weekends: sitting in bed quietly trying to think of silent activities I can do while I wait hours for the rest of the house to get up. It’s as dull as it sounds, but I’m quite used to it.

The apartment is a disaster. It’s been about a month since the flood and the landlord finally had some people come and tear out the wet, moldy carpets this last week. Now our furniture is everywhere, all of our clothes and belongings are floating around in boxes all over the house and we still have to use shoes indoors because of the floors. It feels like we packed up to moved, only we haven’t been allowed to unpack and settle back in for over a month. I’m trying to remain patient, but I haven’t been able to be barefoot in my own place and have no idea where half of my shit is this morning. The way things are progressing, it could be another few weeks before they finally put in new flooring.

Patience. I need to keep working on remaining clam.

Looking for a new place online is killing me. The few affordable apartments I found this week didn’t accept dogs. Nothing else was close to affordable. The search is really getting me down. We can’t live on this street another year, we just can’t. I actually like my apartment for the most part and my landlord is usually a pretty good guy, but the city does nothing about the encampments up and down our residential street. Tents, trash and used needles are normally everywhere now. I’ve been harassed by mentally ill homeless people so often that it is killing my empathy for their situation. The city even moved in a porta-potty and left it sitting there on the block. To what? Encourage the campers to never leave? The camping population boomed again right after that. Some dickhead found a can of spray paint recently and painted “CUNT” on the sidewalks and on everything else. Cars are broken into almost daily. I still play the “Watch the ground for broken glass and needles!” game with the kids when I walk them to school in the morning. Living in this apartment and on this street costs us fourteen hundred a month in just rent. The last electric bill was half a grand.

My income is just a drop in a bottomless bucket that never holds water.

Outside Seattle rents are a bit lower in some areas. I keep thinking that we may just have to risk a unprepared move. That is, we may have to relocate to another town even without jobs waiting for us. When you have three kids there are few things more fearful than the idea of not having guaranteed income. What if we move, get a place but don’t find work? The last time my boyfriend was out of work it took him six months get get something else. I’m a hard worker, but my resume doesn’t turn a lot of heads. The idea of moving just to be evicted some months later turns my stomach. The idea of signing another year-long lease and being trapped here almost moves me to tears…


Okay, time to reset. I am not starting out my weekend in a negative mood. Time to smoke a bowl, play a video game and wait for everyone else to get up. Things will get better. Or they won’t. Either way, tomorrow is still on it’s way. It may mean more hustle and bustle, but my family is good at it. We’re a tough bunch and I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to love and strive for. We’ll always have that in our favor.