October 10th, 2005


DECISION! Explosive Fist Fusillade - Gambatte!

So... I could break my lease, and the rent a house. Said house is lived in by two very good friends, and owned by their father/father-in-law. It's 1800 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, with a generous downstairs area and a yard for my dog.

Said father probably wants to sell it within 2 years, but cannot do it for at least 18 months due to Capital Gains and some fancy footwork he needs to do.

Rent would be 700-800 dollars, with utilities, it would probably end up being about what I pay now.

Devon would need a zone variance to keep going to Becker for this year, but then would go to the same High School.

It seems like a good idea. By the time the father sells, I'll have my MLIS, and will be decided to either buy a house, or get out of Vegas armed with my degree and a hopefully well-stocked resume.

Thing is, I *do* like my apartment. It's cute! It has skylights!
BUT... a yard, more room, a bedroom devoid of boxes of comics and gaming and action figures?

What to do?


That's my favorite poem, btw. Well, that and Jabberwocky are locked in an eternal steel-cage match for supremacy inside my skull. Let's pretend the following is a poem, when actually it's secret agent badly disguised as haiku. Haiku from another world, ready to live in you like a mobile home, and drive you around this terrarium:

There is a world outside, and there are mysteries, and there is silence and strange looks. There are fey eyes and laughter and I am not part of this.

The worst things do not self-edit, the bastard that I was. There is no chamber between mind and mouth. A head full of poison can only speak in toxic sentences. Yet, I forgive, I forget, I do not care.

Midnight closes in, and I feel the maudlin shroud descend. Outside, in the night's land, there are seeds that will not grow, hidden from the hopeful sun, hidden from a gambler, hidden from the if/but/maybe of the cat in the box.

Norse gods, greek gods, but I'm the only god I know, and if I cannot make the sun rise, might I stop believing, cease?

I will live on in smoke and mirrors, when I force myself to laugh.