Currently, my greatest luxury is knowing I have enough quarters to do laundry without counting. This budget isn’t as hairline thin, compared last year, and things are finally flowing in a positive direction after over a year living in downtown Seattle. I might even luck into another year in my awesome shitty apartment. I tentatively inquired about a rent increase with a reminder of various plumbing/flooding issues from the past year. I adamantly believe I’m the best person to rent that space and am gonna try like hell to stay there. Living alone in LQA might be the only thing keeping me safe in a variety of ways. I won’t stay forever but I’d like another few years.

There’s a tulip tree in bloom across the street and I remember how happy it made me last year. This was when I started work at the Space Needle and still harbored delusions of romantic grandeur. I had some savings left and slight faith in humanity. By the end of summer, none of that stayed true. 2016 was a year of investments. Armed with a sharp wit and a heart freshly painted on my sleeve I trudged all over this city. Being myself isn’t hard in new places. The tricky part is when I want to keep coming back. I relied on my stubbornness to work my way into a few communities, confident in what I want. Results varied.

Relevant people reveal themselves to me by showing interest. I have killed any part of me that assumes I’m interesting. I love myself and simultaneously believe I’m completely worthless. The aspects of myself I value are buried so deeply under a facade of sarcasm and nonchalance I forget about them at  times. Pretending I don’t care what people think while ardently trying to not actually care what people think. Disregarding polite compliments and never settling for pity, I developed a shell harder than concrete. That’s the only way I know to survive honestly. Trying to fake concern for the insipid just makes my smile look like I’m chewing on my face.