A year ago today. . .

I was evicted, or nearly. The drama went down, for sure. I was running scared, and trying to move, and shoving things in boxes, and trying to find a place to leave Cleo. I was dealing with Josh, and I had just been laid off, and I pretty much felt like I'd never be safe again.

Fast forward to today. I have a good job that's not going anywhere. I'm about to move again, this weekend, to a gorgeous apartment of my own, with my fiancee, in a beautiful neighborhood in this wonderful city. Although I haven't gotten fully together financially yet, I'm cleaning things up quickly. My transition has been moving forward by leaps and bounds. I've made new friends and caught up with old ones. I'm learning to live on my own, without my grandmom to hold things together in the family or my dad to give advice. I feel like I have aged ten years in this one.

And on a less philosophical note, I would be really happy if we could stay in the same apartment for, like, five years now. Holy crap, am I tired of moving.