My phone is kind of awesome. It’s a little ridiculous with the autocorrects. Like how it corrects ‘y’all’ to ‘lollipops,’ or how once I sent a text that said, “I’ll be over soon. I’m going to go for a run first,” and my friend received a text that said, “I’ll be over soon. I’m going to go for a Run-D.M.C. first.” Or there was that time I was trying to text KD while I was driving, so I was speaking into the phone, which was actually sitting in my lap, and it wasn’t getting anything right, so finally I just yelled, “SHIT. I HATE THIS PHONE.” The text KD received? “S***. I have this fin!” My phone censored me, y’all. Lollipops. Y’all.

About a week ago, roommate Yale was having a rough day. Most of our days lately have been rough. And you know what? Rough isn’t really our style. (Heh.) We are more the laughter through tears type. So she was texting me, letting me know she’d had a little meltdown and that she was trying to cheer herself up. I felt awful for her, having had my own meltdown the day before, so I wanted to send her a text to let her know I understood, at least a little. So I sent, “I know it’s so hard right now. It will get better soon, I promise. Much better.” That is not the text she received. Nope, she got this: “I know it’s so hard right now. It will get Beyonce soon, I promise. Much Beyonce.”
My phone is rad.
But you know what? Things really are starting to get Beyonce. Last night she and I signed the lease on our new home, a cute little basement apartment in a triplex in a quiet neighborhood. We’re a 10 minute walk from everything I love in Seattle. We have a yard for the dog and potential for a garden. The apartment is old, lived-in, a little janky and busted, but will be home. We walked through, signed the lease, and then the leasing agent joined us in doing our happy dance, which she and I do so often, anytime one of has a good first date, gets good news at work, or even at restaurants, when the food comes. We’re packing like crazy and the U-Haul is reserved for Sunday morning.
And I’m so lucky in my friends. So many people have volunteered to help us move. And Betty Nebraska and Bowie have kindly invited me to live in their home until I move to my new place. They know how hard it is for me to be at Kim’s house, how I wasn’t sleeping, how I dream about her every night. So they’ve insisted the dog and I move in with them for a few days. It’s lovely. Last night I got to their house after they’d already gone to bed. Instead of leaving chocolate on my pillow, Bowie left a shot of whisky on the nightstand. They understand me.
Things really are getting Beyonce, lollipops. And I’m so filled with joy and hope for what’s to come.
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