In which the rug is pulled out from under our hero's  feet.

Some background:

The Witch House was one of the oldest punk houses in Olympia back when I lived in it, so called because back in the 80s, some witches lived there. Over the years, many people came and went. The most famous tenant was probably Kathleen Hanna (who had the room I had, by amazing coincidence) (I bought a couch from her when I moved in there and had it for years). People still live there, even though it should have been condemned years ago, but I'm not sure how punk it is now. It got remodeled a bit after I left, but when I lived there, no one had done anything to it for years. It fit the punk house bill to a 'T', complete with the landlord who was this fast talking old guy who wore a lot of gold and left his shirt unbuttoned enough so you could see his gray chest hair and gold chains.

A lot of stuff happened at that house, and I feel like I should share some of it with all of you. If I feel motivated enough, perhaps I'll continue relating stories about my time there. For now, though, a few starters:

Since I slacked off and didn't write a diary for a month, here are the highlights from April.

In accordance with rmg Laundry Day, observed today April 6, 2006, I did laundry. My findings are within.

power outage last night. i have never gotten over my childlike love of power failures. i love my toys that work on electricity but i enjoy the way that an enforced vacation from them shakes things up a little. and besides, i have left behind my apocalypse fantasies and have faith that the power will always, eventually, come back on.