Giving Notice

by

Today I gave notice to my land lady.

I am moving out.  Hell, I have barely been there this month, and I am already planning on moving out.

I had originally thought I would be giving them much greater notice.  I had told my land lady’s son, the one person in the family that really speaks English, recently that I would be moving to Paris.  Once I had my ticket I would let him know and then give his folks official notice.

That was the intent.

Then my friend in Oakland laid out his offer to me last night, Jesus, that was just last night.  The rate that things are falling into place is so fast that it feels like this all must have been cooking for a while unbeknownst to me.

Snap, dazzle, pop, boom, house sitting gig Oakland.

No rent to pay in San Francisco.

Going to Burning Man.

Moving to Paris.

Giving notice at work.

BANG.

Life is just moving forward quickly.  I am looking at moving out of my place before the end of the month as I will leave for Burning Man and come back to house sit in Oakland.  I have to get all my things out and stored and sorted and oh yeah, prep for the playa.

I had feelings of nauseous overwhelming how am I going to make this all work?

Then I realized, fuck, I am completely powerless over my own life and planning how it’s all going to go down is not going to make it any easier.  When I manage my life, I fuck it up.  I get anxious and I get combative and I am not at ease.

Frankly, when it all comes right down to it, things are going exactly as they should, not to my plan, I am just along for the ride.

Oh, yes, I am still taking care of the details.  I am still holding up my end of the bargain.  I am still nipping away at things.

Today I moved some of my things back to the house from the house sitting gig.  My camera, a book, a notebook, a couple of hats, some clothes.  Just getting the move out process going.  Then I swung by work and dropped off my bike and borrowed the 62 cm with the Copenhagen porter, way to big, but the basket is lovely and I took it back to my place on Folsom Street and loaded up a few things.

I gave away a printer and then I brought back a bunch of paper and office supplies to work.  I don’t need them, the printer I have not used in quite some time, and the office supplies will come in handy to the business.

One small load of stuff out of the room and out into the world.

I met up with Cesar, land lady’s son, at noon, checked in and made plans to re-convene at the house at two.  I scooted back over to the room and made a few phone calls, one of which was to the hair salon.  If I am going to get it done I have to make it for next Sunday, going pink.

Shhh.

Don’t tell.

Then Cesar and his mom show up.  I let him know that I do not intend to live there for September and October.  I will be house sitting in Oakland and I am not paying rent on a room to store stuff that I will only be getting rid of to move to Paris.

Frankly I could use the money.  The cash I save on not paying rent here will cover my first months rent and deposit in Paris.  Barnaby may not charge me a deposit, but I want to cover my ass, so that is all just going into the savings account.

Ack.

Another thing to think on, I need to swap out my Bank of America account.  I don’t want to deal with their ridiculous fees when I am abroad.

Then I told Cesar that I was going to Burning Man, so basically I needed to address all angles of the room.  If I was going to need to move things out before I went I would need to know soon.  That is if Cesar was planning on taking over the space, which he is considering.

If not, then Casey, is moving in.  I am rather rooting for Casey.  I can be of service and help out a lady who is in a situation I have found myself in before, scrambling for a room in San Francisco.  I have had so many people help me out so many times in my quest for a place to live in San Francisco, that to turn around and help some one else out, just warms me to no extent.

I cannot explain it.  But it feels really right.  And my place is totally girly and pretty and cozy and perfect for a lady.

Cesar would completely remodel the room and make it all guy and he, despite being quite impressed with what I had done with the space, was not interested in the lady pants parts of it.  Way too girly for a dude to call his own.

Not many men are interested in a French wrought iron antique bed with flower and bird finials covered with a white duvet and luscious heaps of fabric pillows, well, straight men, anyway.

I have lace curtains in the window for Pete’s sake.

No, I am pulling for Casey to take the room.

This is partially selfish on my end too.  I don’t want to move anything.  I am going to have my hands full figuring out getting my stuff into storage anyway without having to think about what to do with things if Cesar decides to move in.

I would rather get the $150 deposit from Casey, hand over the keys, and leave for Burning Man.

Simple, easy, go.

If I have to move out my stuff I will probably end up moving it out onto the street.  I really truly don’t feel like dealing with it.

Well, Beth will definitely get my rocking chair and my quilt though.  And I have to put some things in storage–I am never going to let go my spice cabinet that my grandfather made for me.  Nor my manuscripts, my framed diploma from college, my paintings and photographs, or my notebooks.

That being said, all those things will fit tight and nice in a couple of big boxes.

The rest goes.

Or stays.

It’s just stuff.

Giving notice and saying how may I best help the family is what was the important thing.

Figuring out what to do with the stuff is just a waste of my brain power.  I would rather enjoy the awesome company of my friends today.

Lunch with Matt at SunFlower.

Dinner with Thomas at Flour and Water.

An hour-long phone call with my lovely lady Joan.

Beth’s sweet companionship and hand massage today at the Valencia Gardens.

A hair cut and a blow out with Calvin and Diane at Solid Gold Salon.

Cuddling with the kitten and tea at Shannon and Alex’s home.

These are the important things in my life.

Not the stuff.

Love is more important to me than the stuff.

Love is the stuff.

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