I can't keep on track... why do I try?

As happens, I've been off-line a lot lately. Sorting out college, looking into getting a flat with the boyfriend, coming to the realization that I need a second job (what fun) and applying for a handful, re-learning how to drive (still hate it), painting, babysitting, and researching.


Researching, you ask?


I've been researching a lot lately. Anything that catches my fancy, I'll get online and follow links until I know more than you do. 


Most recently it was Earnest Hemingway. Did you know that he met Pablo Picasso in Paris? Or that he underwent electro-shock therapy because of paranoia, likely caused by a handful of mental disorders that were in turn likely caused by an iron build up, theorized because his father suffered from the same? They both killed themselves, too. 


I like Hemingway, he's an interesting writer. I had to read A Farewell To Arms in English class and must say I prefer For Whom the Bell Tolls. My mother hates both, says they're far to violent. 


Now I'm watching No Reservations and am having to come to grips with the fact that I'm about to watch a REALLY adorable lamb turn into a dinner option. 


But it's SOOO CUTE, how could you eat it? Poor baby had it's legs all tied up together so it couldn't get all muscular and ruin the flavor, too... poor little thing.


I'm seeming a lot less badass with every post, huh? Oh well. It's true - I spent years as a vegetarian because I felt bad eating arguably adorable animals, and I only went back to eating meat (chicken and fish, the occasional cheese burger or piece of bacon) because I'm able to get sustainable meats, from no-suffering farms. 


Weird concept, huh? Well, for those of you who know about places like Whole Foods (note, I really mean "rarely" with food because I live in a town without a reliable source for good products) this isn't news, but for those who are used to Burger King you may find it shocking that there are two kinds of producers of food products: those who do it with a standard of ethics and those who do it to make money. Also known as "those who make sure the animals suffer the least amount possible between birth and death" and "those who tie legs together to make sure there's no muscle in with the fat everyone says is so yummy". 


I eat with ethics (weird, I know) and even make friends with local chefs to double-check quality. There are places I avoid like the plague because of the way animals that go to them are treated, and there are places I return to because I trust them. 


Then there are places I end up at because I end up there - like a random Chinese place in New York on Christmas a few years back - where I have to make a choice. 


I hate those situations...


Anyways, this post got REALLY off topic REALLY fast, so I'm going to try to reign it back in. 


Right. Apartments. THAT was where I was going. 


I've come to a point at which living in one town, working in another and going to school in another is inconvenient, even in the Rogue Valley where it's not that far from town to town. 


So I'm faced with getting my butt closer to School, and hopefully getting work to happen on days when classes... aren't. 


Now that means finding a flat, and since I'm 18 and have a boyfriend who's stuck it out for eight and a half months (oh my god, just realized how long that actually is in my world of 3 week boyfriends...) I'm taking him with me.


The reality that we found a place we like near his parents house is really quite handy, supposing we get it. 


It's just going to take some time to get in, because I'm 18 and work a part time job for minimum wage at a company my family owns and am getting set up to go full-time to the local community college and my boyfriend is getting set up to go to the local community college and trying to find a job of the preferably full-time variety...


Money's tight. Give me a few months of saving what I can (my car's falling apart and I'm an artist, my money is blown on keeping the Volvo running and a healthy stash of canvas and paint in my closet) and I'll have my foot in the door.


Or maybe my furniture, and then I'll be able to get to college in ten minutes instead of going into work with my mom at eight, getting a ride to the college at whenever classes start and then having to hang out at a cafe or in the library between courses because I have nowhere else to go. 


Plus, when we get a place... I was promised a kitten.


Yes, a Kitten.


A cute, fuzzy, snuggly kitten. I get a kitten because the cat my mother said I could take has recently become not an option.


No, she's not dead. She's my mothers last attempt to hold on to me and the fact that I am her child. The cat is mine, and by keeping it, she's keeping part of me.


Or something like that. I'm trying to work out the thinkings of a fifty something with three cats and a house where the walls and carpets are white and her best friend is the Real Housewives because they (well, them or one of her other shows) are reliably on the telly every night. Except Wednesdays. Wednesdays are just... depressing, for my mother. 


So she's keeping my cat, and I get a new kitten to make up for it. 


YAY kittens... 


I think I want a little grey one this time. The only grey kitten I ever had stopped being grey when it was a few weeks old and the orange-brown patches spread. 


That'd be Tucker, our only boy cat, who hates me because he's asthmatic and I have to medicate him on a nightly basis. 


I want a little grey kitten that will actually love me like kittens are supposed to. But the important part for me is that it's a rescue, go down to the shelter (we have several) and pick up a vet-certified healthy kitten to bring home and love to death. That's also going to have to wait until I get money, since there's mandatory vet visits and food and all sorts of little things like that.


Like catnip. I'm a huge fan of fresh catnip plans for the kittens to play with. Probably more of a sadistic joy relating to using a laser pointer to torment them after they're three leaves deep into a kitty-high, but...


That's unrelated to why I'm getting a kitten. I'm getting one cuz they're cute and (unless they're being medicated by you night after night) they love you unconditionally. 


The other bonus that comes from living with boyfriend on a more permanent basis than I do right now (really, I do weekends at his house, he does one or two week days at mine) is the fact that his clothes will be readily available.


This means two things: I have a new source of clothing and will be rocking the "boyfriend" look, and I'll be able to politely bring about the demise of some of his well-trashed pieces of clothing. Oh, and I forgot, I'll also be able to add a few pieces of joy to his wardrobe, much like the plaid shorts I facilitated (gifts from my fathers closet, readily given since he's gotten roundy and they don't fit anymore). 


AAAAAAND I'll get to decorate an apartment. Decorating is my specialty, and I've plenty of art to put on the walls. We have a bit of furniture put together form his house and mine - two beds (helpful in a one bedroom, I'm aware), one bedside table (also helpful, I know), a handful of book shelves, a TV stand with shelving, two (maybe more, one of which - mine - is the size of a post card) TV's, a PS3, a game cube, 2 broken PS2's that only play PS1 games, two laptops, a lamp, a CD player, and some stack-shelving units that currently hold space in my closet. Oh, and maybe a huge green chair that belonged to my great grandfather and I haven't let out of my sight since I had it re-covered when I was twelve. I love that chair - even if it's shredded from cats and needs to once again be re-covered. Oh, and my art table. Forgot that... we only unearthed it from the garage this week, so I'm not used to it being around. It's a full on drafting table, and once I get it put together it'll do all sorts of neat tricks. 


Like probably be my desk for all homework related things. Such a shame to wreck such a pretty piece of furniture that way. 


Anyways... off to day dream about my new apartment and my amazing boyfriend and my adorable kitten. Thankfully I've got one of the three on hand already, and he doesn't exist solely if I have money. He exists just because he's fantastic and I'm against the concept of letting him go. Ever. 


So, I'm going to go. 


XO


FREAK aka


PS: Some more photos.

LIA: my little baby girl, she's 8 (?!) this year. How old is that in cat years?

Lia asleep with her catnip filled, bright pink, leopard print kitten body pillow. Which may end up going with me, since she only uses it when it just so happens to be where she's sleeping anyways.

Anyone else kind of sad for me that I'm not able to take her with me? 

XOxoXOxoXO