04 June 2002 ~ New furnishings...

I managed to furnish my new apartment for under forty dollars.

To break that down:

--Two plates from Goodwill, Olympia (really pretty white ones with silver edges): 1.29 each.
--Two plates from the free-box on the Evergreen campus (plain red ones, but whatever): free
--Desk and chair, Goodwill, Lacey: 30.00
--mattress pad, free-box on the Evergreen campus: free
--mattress and box spring: free

Now, I feel pretty good about this. You see, because I've spent so little on acquiring materials with which to survive comfortably, I will have more money to spend on the wedding present I am giving Amie and Mike. I will also have more money to blow on food. And coffee. Hell, maybe I'll splurge and buy a latté.

Plus, because the stuff I got is so cheap -- functional, but cheap -- I don't feel like I've abandonned my things back in Binghamton. I've got the most comfortable futon in the world in my grandparents' basement in New York. I worked my ass off to afford it, and it isn't the greatest, but it will do. And things like that bother me: I spent SO much time and energy and money trying to make my life comfortable in Binghamton, that I feel guilty for being here and deserting that life and the things that went along with that life... The futon, the desk (hauled up FIVE flights of stairs in my time in Binghamton, then DOWN five...), the furniture, the little boxes of junk...

Oly's going to be my home now, at least for another year or two. I'm not going to go back to calling Binghamton "home." But I do get homesick sometimes. And in a way -- kind of a foolish way -- it feels nice to be able to say, "well, I do have to go back sometime... I mean, my futon's there!" It feels nice to have some minimal task to perform in Binghamton -- one that requires my attention and my presence, but that doesn't require me to STAY. I think eventually, I will use that furniture as an excuse to go back to Binghamton for awhile. Really, it won't be so much about the furniture, although I seriously MISS my furniture... It will be an excuse to see Norman. To go to Lost Dog, to see Norman, to see what the hell the city has done to my rivers. To see Norman. To visit my mom and my brothers. To see Norman. To see my birdie. To see Norman.

I furnished my apartment for under forty dollars. Forty dollars is a lot, but it's still disposable. If there is an earthquake and my plates break, I will be sad, but their value is... well... more trivial than the china set in my mom's storage area, or the plain old dishware that I'd been using for three years and loved with all my heart. It is good to have left some things. I can go back. I can tell people I must go back. Just for a visit. And until then, I will survive just fine. But the contents of this apartment will just be to tide me over until I've brought my other things here.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Let me tell you a story about two beds. And the garbage.

When I was like, two or three, my parents bought me a Big Girl Bed. Maybe I was four. Whatever. They bought me a Big Girl Bed. I kind of beat up on the Big Girl Bed. Once, I took a penny and pressed it against the wooden headboard so hard that I could engrave lines. I engraved a big "A." I must have been three and just learning to write. My mom flipped; I'd ruined the Big Girl Bed.

I continued to sleep in the Big Girl Bed until I turned 21, minus a year when I slept in a dorm bed in Santa Fe. Then I bought the futon with money saved from tips at Grand Central Café. I abandonned the Big Girl Bed and just slept on the futon in the living room. Or I slept at Norman's. I tried to sell the Big Girl Bed. The box spring was coming apart in some places, and the mattress didn't fit two people comfortably (my apologies to anybody whom this affected), and there was a big "A" carved into the headboard. But it was still in usable condition. Even GOOD condition, for a 20-year-old twin bed.

Nobody bought the Big Girl Bed. Nobody even wanted the mattress.

Eventually, maybe eight or nine months ago, I put the Big Girl Bed on the curb for the garbage collectors. I fucking hated to do that. You know, there are starving children in China who don't HAVE Big Girl Beds, and they sleep on the floor. There are starving children on CLINTON STREET in Binghamton, who don't have Big Girl Beds and have to sleep on the floor. I felt horrible throwing away the Big Girl Bed.

Alas, all was not lost. Before the day was over (and just before a rainstorm, if I remember correctly), some poor college student came by and took the Big Girl Bed. I didn't see them do it; I didn't see anybody take it; I have no idea what they did with it, but SOMEBODY took the Big Girl Bed, and I'm going to assume, to put my heart at ease, that the Big Girl Bed is still alive somewhere, and not in a landfill.

Now, in Olympia, Washington, being Big-Girl-Bed-less, AND futon-less, I tried to find a mattress at Goodwill, or Salvation Army, or some such thing. No luck. All the cheap mattresses were shitty AND expensive. I'd rather sleep on the floor.

I discovered, however, that directly outside my apartment building, somebody had thrown a Big Girl Bed in the dumpster.

It was on top of all the other garbage. It appeared to be clean and not too beat up.

Last night, by the light of the moon, the abandonned Big Girl Bed made its way up to my new apartment.

And yes, I KNOW it's fucking gross to garbage-pick, but you know what? I don't give a damn. I saved, like, 40 cubic feet of landfill space. Or maybe that's not right; I flunked geometry. Regardless, that's one less Big Girl Bed in the garbage, and one more poor college student who doesn't have to sleep on the floor. What goes around comes around. I like that very much.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Gave my presentation today for my class.

They clapped for me.

Even better, they clapped for my work.

They didn't even stop clapping when I said, "that was the first part; the second part isn't quite ready for the public yet." they were still clapping for the work I'd read them.

David, my teacher, said, "Wow. You sure know how to write." He was breathing kind of heavily. He looked like Pan more than ever.

A girl followed me outside afterwards. She ran after me to catch me. She said, "that was beautiful. Then what happens next?"

I told her someday it will be published. She can read it then.

Maybe my presentation didn't quite have the exhilarating power of the kid with the performance poetry. Maybe it wasn't as enticing as the kid who gave everybody in the class a free CD of his music. Maybe it wasn't as funny as the kid whose presentation involved "planetary acsension through communal consciousness." But DUDE... I made ART, dammit. Not this piddly little shit you're reading now; I made ART. Maybe for the first time in my whole life, I feel like a writer. Like a REAL writer. Like I could BE a writer. Like, when people ask me what I'm going to be when I grow up, I can say, "I'm going to be a writer."

I'm still going to need a day job.

But I AM a writer. I made writing. I made ART. It's beautiful, kids. I can't wait until I've finished it and you can read it.

I had to leave class right after my presentation. I had to go outside and breathe. I'm not very good at speaking in front of people.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I am in the process of moving now. I mean, I've got everything mostly moved. So I might be a little bit slow with the email and the journal entries. Don't get too worried about me.

Love,
~Helena*