Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 36

I met Drummer Boy the day my house listed for sale. If I hadn't taken action to sell my house and leave the region I did not yet know he and I shared, I would not have met him. Because this is a test of the Emergency Boy Lust System. Do not change the channel or your plans. Simply carry on as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

So I'm leaving my house and my job and the life I have led for 20-ish years. Because who wants to spend another COVID winter locked up alone getting spookier by the second? But suddenly everything is new. My house a haven. Townfolk affable.The air cool and sweet. Nightlife unexpected. Because there is a fresh someone making it better.

A month in, Drummer Boy's mother dies. The day of her funeral, the town and lodging I'd been planning for came undone because the friend I was moving in with's father was also heading rapidly towards a funeral. And her husband got deployed. And there are cats (achoo) and an issue with the fenced yard for Daisy. I had about 36 hours to decide if I try to stay and find another place to live in a town with a nearly zero percent rental vacancy rate and keep my job, or find a new place to go and give respectful 2 weeks notice as planned. Drummer Boy put it out there that he wouldn't mind going in on a place with me. Tempting. Very tempting. But his mom just died and he was busy managing a big THAT and I did not have the energy to try so very hard to simply stay. I looked at places online. Asked a few questions. Crunched a number. That's it. So now I'm moving into a different town in a different state with a different friend. And storing my shit in yet another state. Be advised: moving now is fucked. Storage and truck prices are jacked. You may not be accommodated. A guy from New Jersey fronting a dubious moving service may take a ton of your time and be a captivating storyteller, but not help you. Your family moving crew may have COVID and COVID-related stressors that impact your move. Your giant puppy might hate having her house look different every day as you madly sell and purge and consign and box and will therefore want to live on top of you. Who's gonna stop her? Through a mutual friend during a run of goodbye functions I learned that Freddy may have been boning his co-worker for the last four months. At least now I know how he spent his summer and needn't assign him this back to school essay for homework. But I'd love to read THAT text, just to see what he cooks up.

I'm moving on Drummer Boy's 30th birthday, after hosting a 2 person party for him based loosely on Hot Tub Time Machine. I don't think it's goodbye. I'm already invited to a Halloween rager with my new roomie (there WILL be theatre makeup and props) and I have vague  Thanksgiving plans, both of which beat last year's Halloween nothing followed by Thanksgiving nothing. So there's hope. I have a place to land for 3 months. Then I know not what. But none of us, even self-proclaimed psychics, fully see what's next. We've spent lives seeking stability built on fake money and slippery time, hoping the illusion would help us dodge insanity. Wish me luck.

Until Next Time, Sweeties! (When I might write about Satan's penis. Is it forked, or just forked up?)

Ness Sweet Ness