Actually Happy

I’m happy. Actually happy, which sounds stupid to say out loud but there it is. I’m living in what’s probably the most financially fucked neighborhood in the city, and I’m happy anyway. The people here are real, they’re kind, and nobody’s beaten me up yet. The bar’s low but I’ll take it.

Becca helped me get the apartment sorted—she actually did the work while I provided commentary and got in the way. My neighbor upstairs has been treating midnight like the start of gaming prime time, speakers legitimately a war crime, but the apartment has a bathtub and somehow that makes everything okay. A bathtub sounds like nothing until you’ve only had showers for years.

Everything else is clicking. School’s good, work’s good. I’m the class rep, teaching PHP and HTML and CSS, designing things that don’t look like garbage. Got a girlfriend with a mouth on her that puts mine to shame—she burns me with jokes I didn’t see coming. That’s the type.

Little Britain, McDonald’s Monopoly, snowstorms that shut the city down for a day. It’s all the small shit that’s actually the thing. I need a couch though. That’s the only missing piece right now.