Cabin Fever

I am currently in the process of double-moving, Gentle Reader, and I’m still fairly housebound.


Double-moving entails fetching my remaining possessions from my roommate’s place because they’re being forced to move, yet again. This time the situation is far less hostile, but is more dire: There is far less time to find a place to move; they have a temporary solution – a place to stay, while they’re searching.

At the very least, I need to retrieve my things and remove a bit of the burden, if I can’t, in fact, actually help them move.


Meanwhile, my mother’s place, where I’ve been staying since The European Fiasco, will shortly be for sale. Maman is selling Arvingdale and moving in two weeks; I am helping her prepare for that, etc. etc. While I’ll be able to stay here until it sells, it’s remote and the transport situation is, again, dire. Finding a studio of my own is dependent on finding work in Tacoma.

Meanwhilier, despite the urgency of all these things, I remain housebound, like some sort of shut-in. Not constantly – I manage to get to see Dr. Boyfriend about once a week, around his hectic schedule – now and then I manage to make it to town. Still, the fact remains that I’m clawing the walls, while worrying about new walls to claw.


If you have resources, leads, or advice, I’d be thrilled to have it. If you have a truck and are local and can help any of the fifty-three moving days coming up, please let me know.  If you can swing by and give me a nice evening out before I pull out all my hair, that’d be lovely too.

Cheers, kids. I’ll leave you with this:


About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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1 Response to Cabin Fever

  1. Natalie DeYoung says:

    I have cabin fever too lately. I can’t really leave the house, I don’t have anywhere to go or any money to go anywhere with, and my car is kaput. In LA, that’s the kiss of death. I try to walk the dog…
    Good luck with all the moving. Ugh.

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