Clearing fog

I’m writing this because I’ve been alternately pacing and sleeping all day and somehow, and this will come as a shock you, it’s not working. To be clear I don’t know what I’m writing. You’re right. Let’s preemptively lock this. (I know. Two locked posts in a row. I’m sorry. It would make so much more sense if I locked good posts. The thing is, I don’t entirely know what those are. I know which posts I like. Can’t even choose a favorite. I just tried. I wrote the sentence, “This is my favorite” and then couldn’t decide what to hyperlink to it. Here are some I like in no particular order.

Get in

Bomb City

A Year of Borrowed Hope

Assault Pays

How to not blow away

Alright then. That took longer than it should have taken. I’m not sure what to say next. This is fun. I have so many things I should be doing, not the least of which is working on my book. But I’m stuck there. It happens. It’s fine. It’s because the list of shit I need to do is getting too long. So I solved one problem and created two more.

I was trying to find a place to rent when this lease runs out. But the place I wanted seems unaware that some of us have weird jobs and don’t have W2s. This is not a problem I’ve had yet. My first apartment here, I got with a letter from my bar manager saying I’d earn, whatever it was he wrote that was bullshit, but I made rent. It’s not a fucking Astin Martin. I can’t steal an apartment. It’s fine. The last five years, I’ve been forwarding an email from my agent saying this is what I should earn this year and next. Combined with a benefit letter from the VA, I’ve never had to show more.

I sent these dumbfucks that email and a letter from the VA, and they called and said they needed W2s. I explained the concept of self-employment and that my credit score is 838. They wanted my last two tax returns. Fine. They called and said they wanted W2s. I asked how they imagine I would get a W2, and once again explained self employment. They want W2s and my last two checking account statements.

So I did what I do best, swore a lot mostly. And decided fuck it, I’m moving to New York for the summer. Sort of. I’m putting my shit in storage and apartment sitting for a friend for a couple months.

That can, the whole, where do I live now question, having thoroughly kicked down the road, dropped a couple worms. One is timing, but I can deal with that. The other…

See the thing is I bought a truck. And now I have to figure out where the fuck to park a truck, which will not be in Manhattan. If you have any sort of brilliant solution to this that everyone but me already knows, please let me know. Or maybe you’re building a bomb shelter and need to borrow a truck and this works out for you. (My dad’s gonna read this. I’d like to remind him that I once let a couple Austrian gap year students drive my Honda from DC to Texas because it was cheaper than shipping it, as in FREE, and the worst thing that happened is they put a Sweet Home Alabama sticker in the window.) Right now I’m at, maybe see if I can get a buddy in Maryland to let me park it at his house and pay him to drive me and Woody to NY. And pick us up a couple months later. Like a probably less depressing version of Alone. That may be what I end up doing. I can get a zip car or whatever if I need one while I’m there. Who knows. Jesus christ.

I don’t know what I’m doing after New York. Maybe I’ll drive to Alaska. Maybe we’ll be at war with Canada. Maybe I’ll stop doing weird shit and find an apartment that doesn’t want to see my colonoscopy results. Maybe nothing matters. I don’t know.