Rushed

I think B said it best:

Levi decided he wasn't going to live in the litterbox, much to the dismay of the other crazy renters in that house.

No kidding. After five days of washing and painting walls; ripping out carpet, pad, and thousands of associated staples and nails; and scrubbing the floor only to find that the place still stank, I left my key with a brief good luck note and got the hell out.

Thirty minutes later they called and yelled at me, then hung up before I could respond. I dutifully drove back to the house to try to make some sort of amends, fully expecting a fistfight. There was more yelling (them, not me) and then the door was slammed.

Lesson learned.

So Bonnie and I scoured town trying to dig up something else, and after a disappointing tour of shitholes all over town, I found a gem of a place right in the middle of Division: it's half residential area and half recording studios/band practice spaces/artist studios, with a huge commercial kitchen and the nicest people I've met in a long time. And it's mine, all mine. Sweet fucking relief.

...

Tonight I've got to go up to REI in the Pearl (or is it the Oyster?) to sign up for an introductory rock climbing class tomorrow night, then back down to Milwaukie to finish cleaning Paul's place and collect the last of my junk.

...and there's more that I'm leaving out, but it's going to be a late night as it is. Batman out.