soooo. uh. hi.

i wish this was one of those little “i rebuilt a project and the fonts are cute and i’m kinda proud of myself” posts.

i really do.

instead, i am sitting here staring down the very real possibility of homelessness, trying to turn my life into a bunch of folders, phone numbers, checklists, storage boxes, and terrifying adult questions i should apparently know how to ask even though i’m pretty sure nobody hands you the “congratulations, your housing situation is imploding!” starter pack at 18, 28, 38, or honestly ever.

like… what the fuck do you even pack for that?

“yes hello, one human adult, one laptop, one brain that has been operating at approximately 4% battery for several years, several crates of vinyl, and a deeply inconvenient amount of hope. where should i put all that?”

the eviction-shaped meteor

the eviction situation is still hanging over me. there’s a warrant date. there are court papers. there are phone calls i need to make. there are acronyms that all sound like they were created by a committee of exhausted robots trying to punish people for not already knowing them.

DSS. HRC. OSC. SNAP. PA. SSI. SSD. PO box. General Delivery.

cool cool cool cool cool.

my brain has been attempting to process all of this while also doing its usual thing where it decides that a single unanswered email is basically the same emotional event as a meteor strike.

but… i did something important.

i stopped trying to keep every single terrifying possibility locked in my head.

we put together actual housing packets. questions to ask shelters. questions to ask DSS. questions about emergency assistance. questions about storage. questions about what the hell happens to your belongings when your life gets turned upside down on a schedule somebody else made.

which sounds extremely bleak when i type it out like that.

because it is bleak.

but it’s also information. and information is at least a little bit better than sitting in the dark letting your imagination do unpaid overtime.

le vinyl long[play] goodbye continues… unfortunately

my records are still one of the biggest things weighing on me.

not just because they’re records. not just because they’re a collection i’ve built up around my entire stupid little music-obsessed heart.

but because they are also potential inventory.

they are boxes of stories and cover art and memories and weird little matrix/runout hieroglyphics and maybe money if i can get myself calm enough to grade them, price them, list them, package them, and send them out into the world without accidentally describing a scratched VG copy as “near mint, played once by angels.”

which i will not do. because i have standards. even when my life is becoming a season finale written by someone who just discovered the word “stakes.”

so i’m trying to make the Discogs uploads into something smaller and more survivable:

pick a tiny batch.
identify the actual pressing.
grade the media honestly.
grade the sleeve separately.
write down flaws instead of pretending they don’t exist.
check sold comps.
list it.
breathe.
repeat.

not “save my whole life with the contents of the record crates by sunrise.”

just… list the next record.

there is something weirdly grounding about that. there’s a record in front of me. it has a catalog number. it has a condition. it has a place on a shelf. it can become a listing. a listing can become a sale. a sale can become postage money, food money, moving money, maybe even a little proof that i’m not entirely powerless here.

small thing. real thing.

the PO box side quest nobody asked for

and THEN i found out that i probably need to get a PO box before losing the apartment because apparently the current lease might be the thing that proves i have an address while i still have an address.

absolutely beautiful system. no notes.

actually, many notes. too many notes. the notes are beginning to form their own municipal government.

but it matters. a return address matters if i’m shipping records. it matters for court stuff, benefits stuff, school stuff, mail stuff, all the various forms that quietly assume everyone has a stable mailbox and a peaceful little kitchen table to sit at while they fill everything out.

so that is on the list too.

PO box. two IDs. current lease. do it before the door closes behind us.

again: terrifying.

again: now i know.

florida, Full Sail, Whisper Lake, and the dangerous little word “maybe”

there is also the Full Sail / Florida possibility.

Whisper Lake is near Full Sail. Full Sail has housing resources and a roommate list. there might be a route there.

but i am trying very, very hard not to let the word maybe turn into a full-blown fantasy apartment with imaginary keys and a welcome mat that says “congrats, nothing bad ever happens again.”

Full Sail does not have dorms. Whisper Lake is a private apartment complex. which means this only works if there is an actual available unit or room, an actual move-in date, an actual approval route, an actual answer about credit and eviction screening, an actual guarantor situation with my mom’s income, and actual money for the absolute avalanche of move-in costs.

not vibes.

not “the leasing office person sounded nice.”

not me putting on a tiny party hat because somebody said “you can apply.”

actual numbers. actual availability. actual yes.

so i’ve got scripts now. questions now. a stop rule now.

if they can’t give clear answers about the credit check, the guarantor requirements, the deposit, the all-in move-in cost, or whether a recent New York eviction situation automatically detonates the application… then i don’t get to keep treating it like a rescue helicopter.

it can be a possibility.

but it cannot be the only boat i’m waiting for while the water is rising.

school… dreams… the whole messy fucking thing

and yeah. i’ve been thinking about dropping out.

because when housing feels like it could disappear, it’s hard not to look at everything else—school, coding, building guerz.lol, the projects, the streams, all of it—and think:

who the fuck am i kidding?

like maybe dreams are for people whose floor is staying under them.

maybe learning web development is adorable until rent says “lol.”

maybe building a future is a luxury item.

that voice is loud right now.

but i’m trying not to let it make permanent decisions while it’s screaming.

there may be a leave option. there may be an Interruption of Training. there may be a way to buy time without torching every bridge behind me just because i’m scared and exhausted and trying to survive a week that keeps adding new boss battles.

i am not promising myself that school will magically become feasible.

i’m not pretending the next decade is suddenly bright and easy and full of victory montages.

but i am trying to leave the door unlocked until i have the facts.

that feels fair.

tiny wins, because apparently they still count

despite all of this, i have been doing work.

not enough work to magically neutralize the anxiety. not enough work to make the eviction disappear in a puff of CSS smoke.

but real work.

building out the Discogs system so listing records does not become a disorganized nightmare.

making grading and packing references so i can do this accurately.

making housing call packets because i need my brain outside of my brain right now.

building context handoffs for Gee and Bonnie so i do not have to explain my entire existence from scratch every time i need help.

continuing to think about the freeCodeCamp stuff and my study systems, even if the pace is weird and uneven and held together by spite, caffeine, and whatever the opposite of a wellness retreat is.

some days, “progress” is a big beautiful thing.

some days, progress is making a list called “what happens to my records if i end up in a shelter?” and then crying a little because that is apparently a sentence i now know how to write.

both count.

a few days later, because apparently time did not stop for me to catch up

that was where my head was a few days ago. figured i’d let it sit instead of scrapping it, because it’s still true, just not the whole picture anymore.

today was spravato treatment number six. couldn’t wait for it, honestly — it’s been a week, and a week is a long time when you’re barely keeping it together.

wednesday, treatment five, i cried. a lot. enough that the doctor actually came in to help me through it. today i apologized for it, and my counselor told me not to worry — said laughing and crying are basically the same thing when it comes to release, that sometimes you just need to let it out because you can’t hold it forever. i’m trying to believe that.

i’ve had a lot of anger since that last post too. the wall in front of my computer looks like swiss cheese now. one of the holes is about a foot wide, a foot tall. not proud of that. not proud of how much i’ve been screaming either. my mom’s scared of me and scared for me, and neither of those make me proud. if anything it’s the exact opposite.

a big chunk of it is PayPal, which decided to pile on. two accounts under review now — one with $84 locked behind it, another with $500 — and i won’t hear back for seven to ten days. what i submitted was my license, expired less than two years ago, which the DMV says is still technically valid within their window. PayPal doesn’t care. so i sent them my non-driver ID approval document instead, which should show up in the mail in the next two weeks. meanwhile i can still make sales on discogs, i just can’t touch that money for postage — comes out of my own pocket instead. stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the hard place has teeth.

on the better side: my mom and i have been talking a lot lately, which has actually helped. i called Full Sail and got the financial aid stuff straightened out and squared away — one less acronym-shaped landmine to worry about. i am still not giving up on going to school, whether i’m homeless next week or not. and if it comes to the shelter in Newburgh, small silver lining: there’s a library right next door. quiet place to study. hope for the best, still preparing for the worst.

my mom got two job offers recently, too. one’s probably legit. the other one’s asking her to front $200 in iTunes gift cards to pay for her own equipment before she starts — which, if you know anything about how legitimate companies operate, is a giant red flag. real employers buy their own equipment.

i’m trying. genuinely trying as hard as i can. still showing up for all of it — all the shitty shit i’ve caused, trying to rectify it just by staying consistent and trying to move upward instead of sideways or down.

if anyone’s reading this and looking at my discogs listings — if you see something you like, DM me directly instead of going through discogs. keeps more of it in both our pockets instead of the platform skimming off the top.

and on an actually good note: once things settle down even a little, i’ve got plans to build out a /roadmaps page on guerz.lol — a proper landing grid for tools i’ve built, starting with the turntable line. it’s basically ready, just needs to go live. something to look forward to building instead of just something to survive.

if you’re reading this and you have advice about Orange County housing resources, emergency storage, navigating a shelter intake, Full Sail housing, Winter Park rentals, a good way to move/protect a vinyl collection, Discogs selling, or literally just how to keep a person from mentally blue-screening while life becomes a bureaucratic escape room… i am genuinely all ears.

and if you’re in a rough place too:

maybe we don’t need to solve our whole lives tonight.

maybe tonight we list one record.

maybe tomorrow we make one call.

maybe that’s not nothing.

that’s all i’ve got for now. going to go stream for a bit and catalog more vinyl.

---

current mood: 😣 worn down but still standing

currently listening to:
https://open.spotify.com/track/4mrRhrbG2o102StszS7I8y?si=FcbCEmUJTyWKwJ2eKKWbPg&utm_source=copy-link