Not Public Conversation Ready

So I’ve spent the last two weeks of the year proving to myself. As much as possible. That I am not a public ready human.

Went to look at apartments yesterday.

Was supposed to meet with Apartment Manager Dick. At one of the many schools that we’ve decided to turn into living spaces. I assume because our population is increasing, but our need to educate is not.

That is not the front of the apartment building.

I know this because of my conversation with Apartment Manager Dick.

“This is Apartment Manager Dick. I’m supposed to meet you to show you some apartments.”

Yep. I’m here. Right where I was told to be.

“Ok. Well, come on around to the front of the building.”

Ok…Which side is the front?

“It’s in the front of the building.”

…righhhht…so, is that the school front? Like where the buses drop off?

“What? No. Not where the buses are. On the other side.”

Wait. There are really buses? Like, with children?

“Just follow the sidewalk.”

Ok…So, the sidewalk goes two different directions.

“Just follow it around to the front.”

I just…Are you doing this on purpose?


I found him. Eventually. Through no help from him. And he took me around the school. I mean apartment building.

I didn’t see any children being dropped off. So that seemed like a good sign.

But as we wandered the very school-like halls. I had the sudden feeling of being…at work.

That is not the feeling one wants to have on winter break.

So now I have to determine whether I like the rather low cost, but adorable apartments well enough to just always feel like I’m at work. Just…always.

But I need to find a place soon.

Because I met New Neighbor Todd. A few times now. And each interaction…

I mean, first of all. Every time I see him, I have to fight the urge to ask him why is the carpet all wet, Todd.

But also. He keeps asking me questions. About places. And procedures.

“Do we have to put our mailboxes at the top of the road?”

Ummm, as opposed to…

“Can we have them at the end of our driveway?”

I mean…probably. You’re grown. You can do what you want. But you probably won’t ever get any mail in it. (Translation: No, Todd. You have to put your mailbox a quarter mile away from your home like the rest of us commoners.) (And why is the carpet all wet, Todd?)

“When do they come pick up our trash?”

They…no. No you do that yourself.

“Where does it go?”

The dump.

“I mean, where? Where do I take it.”

Oh. You want directions. Fuck. Ok. So, this is…it’s not going to be an easy process. I’m sorry for what’s about to happen here. So…you go…ok. You turn right out of the neighborhood. I mean, you turn left first. There. But then you turn right. And…wait. Do you know where the church is?


Fuck. Ok. So you turn right. I mean, left first. Then right.

So, it went like this for the next 12 minutes. As Todd. And a man I assume was his father. Stood there. Watching my brain. Work all of this out.

I wonder if they ever found that dump…

So today I’m gonna go run a lot. Around some people that I don’t have to be public ready for. That know not to ask me questions. Or trust me to know where things are.

And as I write this. Skratch is over here messaging taunts. About the new North Fucking Mountain Challenge that Nor’Lord created. With all these different routes. And…



I’ve gotta go walk Bo. Before New Neighbor Todd leaves his house. And asks me more questions. Because I may know the answers. But I definitely don’t know how to convey them.

And I can only hold this in for so long.

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