I said my bones are splintering driftwood,

you said, no stop that's not true.

Now it's all scary real

These are the pictures Daniel took for me since I couldn't be there.

It's on the first floor of a house about a block from Tufts University, and 2 train stops from Harvard. It's actually Medford and not Boston, but Boston is so small that pretty much anything within a certain radius is Boston. It has a front/back yard that the landlord maintains. Hook up for washer/dryer. On street parking (I'll have to get a permit. I heard something about visitors permits, too). The street is residential and pretty quiet, according to Daniel, which will be nice for letting Casey out. Approximate 12 min. walk to subway. 15-20 min. ride to school.

Home and homeless

• Still no apartment: The realtor that my roommate Daniel made an appointment with called while we were en route to MA to say he had nothing to show us. Daniel did a good job scrambling to find someone who could show us some places. We met with 2 guys (the first one we agreed was more of a used car salesmen), and saw a total of 5 places (3 of which were total dumps; 2 of those had tenants inside who weren't expecting us), but none of them were right. The 2 nice ones were amazing, but one was way out of our price range, and the other was in an inconvenient building in an even more inconvenient location. So, we went back to the drawing board with Daniel continuing to do most of the leg work.
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• Daniel is pretty cool. We get along well so far, and he's very polite. We both have an aversion for organized religion. He likes soccer. He has 7 tattoos, but 9 if you count the 2 he covered up. His girlfriend is nice. Saturday, when we were waiting for our 3rd realtor to scrape together some places to show us, we sat in Davis Square eating sorbet and fro-yo. Daniel pointed out heroin addicts to me and Amber, explaining that Boston has a real heroin problem, and then we noticed one puking a mere 12 yards from us. So we left and I laughed about how weird things are.
  
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• Later that night, I took Amber into the city and we found a hypodermic needle on Winter St. Then we got bagels at Finagle A Bagel. Fuckin' delish.
  
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• While I was showing Amber my school we walked past a homeless man who said something to me about marmots. He was clearly a fan of The Big Lebowski.
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• Last night I sat in the hotel bath tub till 1:30am, trying to write, having several heart attacks about moving, texting Andrew like crazy because he gives me more pep talks than anyone (and the best). Because he really knows. I said, "I'm scared." and he said, "I think you're stronger than you think and it won't be as hard as you think."
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• The bus terminal at Alewife station smells like pigeon everywhere. Pigeon smells like urine, hay, and like you're not at home. Incidentally, we learned that the bus schedule exists as a mere formality and it's utterly incomprehensible. But if you're lucky you'll find a nice bus driver to give you a ride back to the hotel despite being out-of-service for the night, because he's a good person and you didn't know that the buses stopped running an hour ago.
  
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• I discovered a passion for running through flash floods looking for firetrucks.
  
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• Boston has the best veggie burgers. Hands down. Best veggie everything.
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• I drank iced peppermint tea in Harvard Square and thought, I could get used to this.
  
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• I think that's it.
  

If it's not bolted down, I'm selling it.

3 weeks till freedom and financial instability.

In unrelated news: good, good ideas floating around in my head space.

I commented on a friend's wall that I didn't know where else to write what i needed to say (because his facebook is twitter updates and no wall, so I commented on a twitter post something unrelated to said post). He emailed me saying that email was the way to go. And you wanna know what my reaction was to that?

HOW WILL ANYONE ELSE SEE WHAT I WRITE TO YOU?!

I think I have a problem.