Fargo Vs. Cities. Pros and Cons Comparison

Staying in Fargo	Moving to Twin Cities	Winner
Still get to see the RedHawks in a pleasant park with good food and good seats	Get to go to St. Paul Saints, but it sucks	Fargo
10 minute commute. Most places in city easy to reach in under 20 minutes, and parking doesn't suck anywhere.	Going anywhere takes forever. 20 minute commute, finding parking near big events sucks	Fargo
Would have lost house by now	Household income doubles what it was in Fargo	Cities
Job leading nowhere, wife unable to land one	wife and me both employed at same time for first time in our 4.5 year relationship	Cities
Broke	Ability to start savings account	Cities
Hateful bitch of a neighbor	Hateful kids as neighbors	Draw
Favorite places keep closing (Silver Moon, Lauermans, Red Bear, Ralph's)	Favorite places are still kicking, and there's always somewhere new to try	Cities
Cost of montly mortgage cheaper than rent	Still, getting double what we earned in Fargo	Cities
Shoveling, mowing, gardening, fixing appliances	Renting, don't got to fix shit	Cities
Dealing with bank about mortgage and selling house for no gain after five years	No mortgage headaches. Rent sucks, but we have a pool	Cities
Fargo Street Fair	Art-A-Whirl	Draw
Squirrels galore	Deer, wild turkeys, geese, cardinals, bluejays	Cities
Red River Zoo	Como Zoo	Cities
Working every day	Unemployed for 8 months, but now working every day	Fargo, sort of. Complicated, but after 7 months it will be as if I never stopped working, income-wise
	When twins are doing poorly, tickets cheaper than Saints tickets	No comparison with Fargo
Got to see Patton Oswalt	Got to see Paul F. Tompkins, Neil Gaiman, and Amiee Mann at one event	Cities (sorry Patton)
Writing for Area Woman is a scam	Tons of freelancing opportunities	Cities
New Library	Tons of libraries, free museum passes inside!	Cities
Politics of a Red State	Politics of a Democratic state	Cities

I'm homeless and loving it!

On phone at 4 p.m.…

Me: Hey baby.

Wife: Hi.

Me: We're homeless and I couldn't be more happy!

Wife: That's wonderful!

Re-enactment

Earlier…

Five years ago, I took the plunge and bought a house. Today, I sold it. I am so incredibly grateful to be done with the whole mess.

I've pontificated previously on the horrible downsides of having a house. I don't want to rehash that.

I'm sitting in Spicy Pie right now, waiting for the only slice of pizza I can afford. Between the wife and I, we have 20 bucks. Because this is a short sale, I do get a little kick back, about 500, so I'll be able to get home to the cities tonight and post this.

I have an hour before I need to go in and sign the house away.

I just spent an hour picking up a few final items from the house. I left some random stuff - shelving, some chairs, a hammock, a dehumidifier. I swept out the garage one last time. Not because I wanted to, but I felt bad that the yard wasn't mowed, the weeds weren't pulled, and adding yardwork to moving would just suck balls. So today was just driving to Fargo, signing a bunch of papers, and driving home. No time to dilly dally.

It no longer felt like home. The scars of the last year in Fargo will be with me for a long time to come. The hours spent trying to make fiancé feel like there was more to life than lying in bed and looking at the ceiling and wondering why we keep going. The weeks of no phone calls or interest in her resume. The months of working volunteer jobs and temp work just to have something to do, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. This mode of existence sucked all enjoyment for life from me. I became even more withdrawn than usual. There's only so many times you can say "Tomorrow will be better" before you feel useless and powerless.

So we ran. We ran to the cities. We no longer have to spend our days wondering how we can afford to repair the latest mechanical problem, or the time spent mowing, shoveling, and all the other bric-a-brac that brought none of the enjoyment from a job well done that you see with homeowners on TV. All our work accomplished was making our mess of a yard a little less messy.

It hasn't been easy. The last few months has been filled with job applications, a few hours of temp work, lots of credit companies calling to say hello. On Monday, I will be going in for a third interview in the "casual lunch" form for a job that would solve soo many problems.  I have about 15 hours of editing work, 7 hours of temp work, and some writing between now and then. I've got two art writing assignments for May, and more pitches to write. Things are on an upswing, but history shows how fragile that is and it's hard for me to be happy about such things prematurely.

But I am glad that today I can walk away from homeownership. I escaped with only some bruises and scrapes. 

The Minnesota Unemployment Insurance kick in the balls

It took fiance about 3 months to go through all the steps necessary for her to get unemployment. She went through North Dakota, then Minnesota. It was a bitch of a system, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Two months after leaving my job because my fiance got a job in the cities, I finally heard from MN unemployment.

Minnesota determined me ineligible for unemployment last night because I didn’t move with my spouse. I called today to talk to them.

Me: Hi, I’m calling about my ineligibility determination.

Her: How can I help you?

Me: First off, I just wanted to check on the part that says pending issues for my second job.

Her: (looking) Well, it appears that that is no longer a pending issue. It has been resolved. It appears you are still working there.

Me: I’m not.

Her: Oh.

Me: That department no longer offers classes, so there’s nothing to teach.

Her: …

Me: So.

Her: …

Me: Did it affect anything?

Her: No.

Me: So despite the fact that that department made cutbacks and is no longer running doesn’t affect things?

Her: No.

Me: OK, let’s talk about the rest of it. I was denied because I’m not married to my fiance?

Her: Yes.

Me: Does it matter that we will be married in 5 weeks?

Her: No. Unfortunately not. The legislature was quite clear on that point.

Me: Or that we’ve been living together for almost 3 years?

Her: Sorry. 

Me: But if we were married, it'd be a different story. 

Her: In most cases. Yes.

Me: Is this how gay people feel?

Her: …

Me: OK, so your saying that because I’m not married yet to the person I’ve been living with and will be marrying in five weeks, and that my second job was cut, which in large part necessitated our move to make enough to sustain ourselves on, I am ineligible.

Her: Well, are you working since then?

Me: I’ve judged some high school debates, but nothing full time or permanent.

Her:  You would have to have another job.

Me: (wishing I said, why would I need unemployment then?) OK, so there’s nothing I can do?

Her: You can appeal to find out for sure.

Me: …

Her: …

Me: …

Her: Is there anything else I can help you with?

Me: I guess not.

Wrath of the allergies

A few years ago, fiance was getting sinus infections every 6 weeks. Has been for  a long time, as she didn’t develop sinuses like the rest of us. She’s been having them so long that normal antibiotics are useless for her. It’s a sucky situation. 

Then, a specialist had her tested for allergies. She turned out to be allergic to most everything, and gets double hit with the sub-zero Fargo air in the winter. We started allergy shots two+ years ago. After the first few months, they trained me how to do it so we could take care of it from the comfort of home with her favorite television show to distract her.

She still curses me every week. Gives me dirty looks when I say it’s time for her shot.

The whole process is simple. Take a Benadryl pill. Wipe the two vials, fill half the syringe with one, top it off with the other. Wipe her arm. Shoot her with the medicine. Slather anti-itch cream on it and slap a cold pack on her arm. For two days, she has a red welt. 

She now gets sinus infections once every six months, if that. It’s been working well.

Then we moved. And once the syringes ran out, it was time to get more. I never had issues with getting them in Fargo. The medicine comes in the mail. I just pick up a new 10 pack when we need them at the drug store. I went into Target on Tuesday to pick some up, and met all sorts of glares and sass.

“We don’t carry allergy syringes. People do that at the clinic. You need a prescription.”

Same thing at the nearby Walgreens. 

I wanted to yell, but criminy, they were bitchy about it. Let’s just say, for shit’s sake, that I wanted syringes for illegal drugs. What sense does it make to have them be prescription-only devices? The only thing this policy does is force drug users to re-use and share needles. Way to go, Minnesota.This whole shot thing is simple, and I've been doing it for more than a year now. I'm more than capable of doing this and saving 30 bucks a week rather than Fiance having to go in to a clinic and lose time at her new job.

OK, so I had Fiance transfer whatever info they needed, and we were cool, but today I tried to pick them up and it turned out the transfer went to a Target in Minnetonka, not Plymouth. So after getting lost trying to find the place during rush hour, I finally had the syringes. After picking out the flowers for the wedding, we got home and it was time for the shot.

These new Target syringes were different than the ones I got in Fargo. The Fargo ones had a cap on the top and on the plunger. Just pull them off and you are ready to go. These syringes just had a cap on the needle. I pulled off the cap, and there was no needle.

“Huh”

So it appears the needle is still in the cap. I try pulling it apart. Nothing. Try again. Nothing. Keep applying force and the needle pops out to my surprise and IM STICKING MY FINGER WITH IT AND OH MY GOD THE BLOOD get me to the sink “Why are you so horrible?!” I yell at the needle that I am sure broke off in my finger because it feels hard and swollen (that’s what she said) but a closer look at this demonic thing from medicinal hell confirms that it didn’t break off and I am a wuss and now Fiance decided to go to bed because “why would I seriously want you to give me a shot now?” but she really will use any excuse to get out of getting a shot dear lord I hate these new syringes.

Houses are horseshit

So it’s 2007, my new job is going well. My sister recently bought a house. My brother is house shopping. I’m living in a studio apartment in Fargo for $375 a month. I decide to take the plunge as well into home ownership. 

I have few reasons.

The market has crashed already. Rates are low.

Not sure I want a house, but it seems like the grown up thing to do. I have a solid job. And I go through the First-time Homebuyers program that helps people like me get a house. You take a class and learn all the ins and outs of buying a home. I can see myself settling in for five years in Fargo. They say you have to do five years in a home to make it worth it. (which is horseshit, by the way)

After looking at more than a dozen homes, I find one in the upper end of my price range ay 103,900. It’ll be tight moneywise, but it’s a nice character home, big trees, perfect size for a single guy and a roommate.

Home ownership is part of what we are told to do when we grow up. You get a home. You fix it up. You have your own private place. You build a bit of equity as the housing market rises. I didn’t see how it was worth it at the time. I figured I would be better off staying in an apartment and stashing the money away into savings or into stocks. But the pressure to buy, to be something I’m not, to live up to the parent’s expectations, was too much. 

I’ve been reasonably happy with the house. But not enough to warrant the purchase.

So 4 years later, I’ve been paying 875 a month average. About 100 of that goes to principal, the rest to interest and insurance and taxes.  That’s $42,000 for four years. Only 26 more to go and I own it!

And that isn’t counting 300 a year for flood insurance, 500 for a new dishwasher, 170 a year for rotor rooter, 500 to get the tree trimmed, 500 a year for other fixit type things, and looming costs of painting and shingles. Add in the 50 a month for the city garbage, extra 60 a month in electricity and heating compared to an apartment, and you’ve got another 10,000 for a total of $52,000 in four years. That’s now more than half the cost of the home in four years.

For comparison, a similar two bedroom apartment in Fargo currently goes for 625 a month. No extra costs for garbage, sewer, fixing things, or homeowners insurance or property taxes. $30,000 assuming I overpaid for the last four years. Let’s add renter’s insurance at $200 for fun, and it’s still not up to $40,000. That’s assuming I moved out of the studio into nicer digs, which may not have happened.

So in four years, I spent an extra 12,000 to have a place I get to fix, mow, shovel, and deal with a racist neighbor from hell (neighbors from hell can be found in apartments and in neighborhoods. Fact!) If I stayed there until paid off on the 30 year plan, I’ll have spent over 300,000.

Well, how about getting that principal back upon selling, you ask? I’m now asking 106,500 with no takers after 3 months. That’s barely over 0.5 percent a year. How much will I gain at that price? Nothing. Not a dime. Although I’ve paid into principal, even an extra 100 bucks a month for the first two years, I don’t see anything. The real estate agents and banks take that. I’ll be lucky if I can pay off the 1000 I spent to spiff up the place with new paint and watersealant and landscaping.

So now I have the joy of paying for a place I can’t sell and don’t live in, while unemployed. I’m still trapped in Fargo.

I asked the loan manager at the bank if I could just pay the interest and insurance and taxes because of all this, just cut off the 120 or so in principal. No dice.

This whole home ownership just has no upside to me. Anyone I ever hear talk about their home is always complaining about how much work it is and what broke last week. A coworker had to spend 5000 out of pocket to fix his fence last summer.

I honestly don’t see it. The only way it would make sense to me is if you planned to stay in the same place for 15 years, and who can foresee that when jobs don’t often last that long?  I guess without people to buy into this whole system, banks wouldn't make money, so hey, we can all feel better about helping banks out, right? 

I guess I like the honesty of apartments as well. Yes you are helping someone else get rich, but they are providing a place to live that they fix if it breaks. It's a lot easier to leave an apartment than a house. And the owner isn't promising that you will one day make money off it it when you won't. ever. 

Rant over.

Anyone interested in buying a house? I've got the perfect one for you!

First grand day out in the cities

Saturday was our first big day out in the cities. We left the hovel of an apartment that still looks like it's been ransacked by the Nazi's who overturned Indiana Jones' room to find his father's journal.

Three months until the wedding, so we are now on full throttle to get shit done. Our first stop was Midway Rental to get some items for table decorations. Fiance got a bit weepy at the stuff we chose. 

We drove over to Yum! For lunch. As I pulled into the nearly full parking lot, there was a spot right up front that required a very good turning radius on the car. I couldn't make it on the first attempt, but as I started to back up to get a better angle on it, the guy behind me began to honk his horn.

"What the hell?" I said.

"Lets just move out of the way so he can get into the lot," fiancé said.

I moved the car down the way a bit, and the fucker took my spot. I found one other empty spot in the lot, but hulk me was starting to break out of the cage. My attuned fiancé soothed me by pleading not to start some shit. I settled down.

After lunch, where I kept eyeing the room on the look out for the jerk in order to, I don't know, glare at him or something, we went off to pick out groom attire.

"This is all you, now, so you get what you want," fiance said.

I knew that this just meant I would get to sort of pick stuff. The attendant was very helpful and we put together a spiffy black pinstriped suit jacket with a silver/black patterned vest, black tie and silver pocket square. Every time the person asked for a decision, fiancé was very happy to make it. I put in my two cents. But my favorite thing was when we had to decide between to similar looking pocket squares and fiancé would turn to me "it's your decision." 

Me: "It is?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

I'm a shit.

So with that done we went to a jewelry shop and got an amber necklace and ring for Fiance's something old. Amber is more than 100 million years old, so that should about do it.

Not once during this whole day did I do my typical whining or grumpy gus stuff. I was a doll. A doll! But fiancé apparently wanted more. She asked why I wasn't having a good time.

"I'm having a good time."

"I can't tell."

"I'm just fine. I'm not hating this, but I'm not going to start being a cheerleader either."

"But can't you be excited?"

"I am."

"You don't show it."

"Sorry. I just don't know how to do that. Have I once been crabby today?"

"No. Now that you say that, it's pretty amazing."

"I know! I feel like I've been a peach! An absolute peach!"

This conversation repeated about four times during the day.

So after all this, we rewarded ourselves with Cinematic Titanic, an event where many of the people from Mystery Science Theater 3000 do their riffing over a movie. Saturday's movie was Rattlers, where some snakes get highly aggressive due to military experiments. It's set up as a mystery as we follow the main guy, a snake expert from the local university who sounds exactly like Jimmy Stewart in the Jimmy Stewart role, yet he was no Jimmy Stewart.

Fiance had gotten stage side seats for an extra couple bucks, which meant we were in fold out chairs that we constantly worried we would break, and next to a woman who just wouldn't. shut. Up. During the opening section of the evening where each cast member came out and did a bit of stand up. It's very hard to enjoy Frank Conniff when the bitch next to us keeps whining about not having four seats together when they were late to the show, then fiddle dicking around with money to get more drinks, then even turning to fiancé and asking her a question. I apologize here to Frank, but during this time, I decide to just turn my whole body and watch this woman's show, glare at full speed, until she settled down again.

The people on our other side were nice enough, and we had a pre-show chat about moving to the cities, weddings, the theater we were in, and so on. The woman stole fiance's popcorn at the end of the night. Just grabbed it and walked out of the theater.

An odd highlight of the evening was during the break between the stand up and the show, we went to the bathroom. the theater bathrooms were packed, so fiance and I went next door to the mexican restaurant where I did my business in a hurry. I came out of the stall after nearly passing out from the smell of digested Yum, and there was Frank Conniff at the urinal. I did not say hi. I don't believe in invading a man's privacy in a restroom.

The show itself was wonderful, once one was able to forget the neighbors and the seats that seemed on the verge of breaking to the point that I had several  battle scenarios ready in case it happened during the movie. The movie was perfectly chosen for the riffing. It was even taped for a DVD release. Not sure how they frame it, but I wonder if I'll be able to pick out my laugh, or fiance's "oh my god" during a scene where a snake crawls into a bathtub.

We plan to do one fun thing a month in the cities, show-wise, and cinematic titanic was our first winning out over John Oliver and Ani DeFranco. It was well worth it.

Life in a 1970s crack den squatter's house

It's been a week since we moved to Plymouth. My days are filled with boxes. Each one a bit of a surprise with things we may not have seen for 9 months. We're shedding clothes for donations and have 4 large boxes ready for a garage sale. I've been unpacking for a week now and the place still looks like this:

We've cooked one meal so far in the apartment. Tacos.

Fiance said two people have told her to get me blogging again.

Me: But, there hasn't been a whole lot to talk about. Plus I'm rather happy.

Fiance: I guess it must be hard to blog when you're happy.

Me: You don't understand.

There are a pile of things to worry about still. The house still hasn't sold. I'm still jobless. I can't rent the house, or the bank will want their money right away. I can't go much lower in price or I'll be paying to sell it. My racist, horrible neighbor is calling my realtor to complain about a sump pump that I've never touched ever but now it's a problem where it drains. She also seems to be complaining about the leaves falling on her lawn.

If I wanted to get easily metaphorical, I'd make some comparison to these life problems and the boxes that surround me and invade my dreams. They are still there. I unpack them, but they don't go away.

But that's just freshman creative non-fiction. Not gonna do it.

This week is not a week for worrying about the financial burden of the house in Fargo, the debts we've piled up from a year of unemployment, the fear that I won't find something soon or be eligible for unemployment. This week is for taking things one box at a time, putting the apartment in order, slowly and thoroughly, sending out emails to job contacts, enjoying the indoor pool at the apartment building, enjoying the sudden fall temperatures where you can leave a window open rather than run the air conditioner.

This week is a week for enjoying the fact that this business exists along the I94 corridor on the way to the Cities. The fourth-grader in me sheds a tear of joy each time he sees this.

To paraphrase Rogue Lieutenant's blog tag - this week is a week to enjoy your life.

New life so far

So we are officially in the cities, a nice apartment in Plymouth. It's been a rough start working, but I'm proud of her. It's tough to begin a new job in a new town when you spend 30 minutes looking for a bra by ripping open boxes with keys because you packed the knives somewhere and your hands hurt from moving boxes. All the moving worries are amplified - did we do the right thing, are things going to work out here, will we ever get everything put away and start feeling like we're at home? After living in Fargo for 8 years, I'd say half of them I felt at home, the last I felt like an outsider just waiting to leave. Now it's happened, and I don't know what next week will bring, and I'm still tired-drunk from moving and sleeping in a new place, mattress on the floor with the sleeping bag on top of it. The wedding is 100 days away, we've got a lot to learn, do, and figure out before then.

The best thing is I've been able to reach out to people that I couldn't before because I didn't want to tip my hand that I was looking for jobs. Now that I have, the network system is hard at work. I have an open invitation from a Pioneer Press editor to call her for a drive by coffee. I have other people in companies that may be able to hook up a position. It's exciting to have so much to do, but I have to find tomorrow's change of clothes somewhere in the boxes first.

This will be short. Not as fluid as the other posts. A full day of moving can drain a person.

Why Me (with jokes!)

It’s amazing how you can imagine so many things going well, and even when some of those things happen, they happen in such a way that makes you hate life a little more. Been a soul-sucking couple weeks in Fargo. We are so close to the finish line, but it has never seemed so far away.

1.     Fiance got a verbal job offer. What does it pay? No idea until “HR gets back to me.” When does it start? “Sometime next week.” When will we have anything in writing for this job that starts next week? Who the fuck knows.

2.     So we have an apartment to move into, movers ready, we’re a bit past the point of no return, yet still have no fucking clue what fiancé will be making, which makes it exceedingly difficult for me to fully assess the “I can leave my job and we’ll be fine with whatever I find in the cities” vs. “I might need to stay in Fargo to chop off a bit more of my soul until things settle down.” Or, they let me do my job with a computer and phone from the cities for a while.

3.     Guess my parents still don’t understand why we are moving, why we are getting married in the cities as opposed to my hometown despite our having told them several times how unhappy I am here and that we haven’t lived in our hometowns for more than 10 years. They seem to think that I should be grateful to have a job at all and just stick it out and be miserable for the next 30 years. Beyond that, they seem to feel I’m making a mistake getting married, since they don’t see us as a couple. As long as their son has a job, fiancé can remain unemployed and we can slowly sink further into debt and depression. My dad has called me twice because he “worries about us.” And is now talking to one of our friends about his concerns.

4.     My car is near the end of its 150000 lifespan, and has little metal bits that may be making their way through the engine like a mechanical sickle cell disease. Can’t do much about it until we both are securely employed. Still owe parents a few thousand on it.

5.     House continues to sit around, and just mild interest from time to time. Don’t know how I can escape until that’s taken care of.

Here’s how all this feels. I’m like that guy in a Mrs. Butterworth’s commercial, with this steaming pile of buttery pancakes sitting in front of me bathed in a ray of morning sunshine. I reach for the syrup, but Mrs. Butterworth starts screaming at me and stabbing my hand with a fork. Meanwhile, the Pillsbury Doughboy ninja jumps onto my back and lassos his scarf around my neck to start choking me. Butterworth pins my hands to the table with a knife and holds the pancakes just out of reach as I suffocate. The bitch. 

Why I am Trapped In Fargo

I consider my relationship with Fargo overall a good one. But with a lot of relationships until you find that perfect companion, at some point, enough becomes enough and you need to make a change. I hope to elaborate in today’s blog entry on the general experience I’ve had with Fargo.

I moved to Fargo in 2004 after escaping a small town newspaper to return to the safe environs of college by going for a graduate degree. My first apartment was 250 a month, which got me a kitchen and a bedroom. The bathroom was across the hallway, which made locking myself out of my apartment in my jammies a daily possibility. The bathroom also didn’t have a shower, but a small half tub. So every day I washed my hair by sitting cross legged in the tub and using a bucket.

As a graduate student, I didn’t mind this so much, not as much as you would think. Near the end of my grad school time, however, I did mind the fact that I was 90 percent sure the other person upstairs in that house was cooking meth. The smells were as crazy as that guy's teeth and eyes and general lack of weight.

The next door neighbor also found a body just across the tracks one spring. The two aren't connected, but it was time to find somewhere else to live.

I found another studio apartment in a very apartmenty part of Fargo. That worked for a year. In that year, I found a great job related to what I wanted to do with my life – write. And I began to realize that jobs can be fun. Work can be good given the right environment and opportunities. I was proud of what I wrote.

I bought a house, something I never thought would happen.

I also found a fiancé, who, coolest of all coolness, connected with me after reading an article I wrote. This is a secret dream of all writers, probably artists. We were the vaguest of acquaintances in High School from different towns, but she remembered me and did me the great favor of emailing.

Time moved on. The Red Bear closed. Lauerman’s closed. Ralph’s closed. All my favorite haunts became memories.

Fiance moved in with me. Our relationship developed. But there were no steady jobs to be had in a state that we keep hearing is great for jobs. Believe me, she applied for everything and anything. A year of unemployment does a lot of damage to your credit and mental sanity, particularly if you have chronic sinus infections or other health issues. We slowly watched as our resources reached a point where Suze Ormand yells at us in our dreams.

Meanwhile, the awesome things about my job began to dwindle. The pay is great, but the parts I enjoyed were discontinued. I no longer wrote anything I was proud of. The people I worked with left and weren’t replaced, leaving me to take up the slack. They say if you aren’t moving positions every 3 years, you are in a rut. I work with someone who has been doing the same job for 15 years. This place is where careers go to die, and I need to leave. 

So for the past year, Fiance and I have been sending out resume after resume. Getting interviews here and there, but never quite sealing the deal.

Likewise, the things people say about owning a house are all things I have come to hate. I hate worrying about shingles, heaters, and the millions of other things that can go wrong with a house that I will have to pay for somehow. I hate having to keep the lawn looking nice and having a hammock that I never use because all the spare time is spent keeping the house from falling apart. I hate having to worry about floods every stinking year. I hate that people think houses are an investment when they really aren’t. House prices over the past 100 years pretty much match inflation. And everything you do to improve it doesn’t really get you back what you put into it. Basically, I feel like selling and buying houses only makes banks and real estate agents money. I think the only reason I got a house was that was what was expected of me – to fit in with the family and social norms. And now that I want to leave, the house thing is tying me down financially until it sells. My biggest fear is that after 4 years in the house, I won’t break even on the sale. As it is, I’ll get maybe 2000, half of which was already spent getting it ready to sell.

So while Fargo was a lifesaver in the beginning, through jobs, unemployment, house ownership, and so on, it has slowly become a trap that I desperately want to escape. I don’t mean this to denigrate people who enjoy Fargo. There are lots of things I have loved. It’s just that most of those things have stopped, or are now vastly outweighed by the negative. I need to move on or, as my coworker who has pretty much the same job as me said recently, “In 10 years, you can be me.”

I don’t think I hid the horror in my eyes well.

I need to get out of this rut. I need to keep trying to become a better writer and be challenged. It would be easy to keep doing this, spewing out the same stories year after year. But that’s what kills souls. At least in my case.

This blog has helped to slow the bleeding. I appreciate every comment and reader. I went from 150 page views in July to 620 in August, and thank you for that. I have found often in my life that when my work stops being creatively satisfying, I quickly find other avenues to release the demons that don’t like me when I settle. I started my Twitter account after 8 months of fruitless job hunting, and it saved me. Thanks for following.

Still hoping to get some help with the move. It’s a bad time of the week for it, so I understand. If I don’t hear by tomorrow, I’ll be looking elsewhere.

People keep asking what my handle will be once I move. Part of me imagines that for a while, even after moving, I will still be metaphorically trapped in Fargo as I try to start the new life. I’ve got some ideas on a new name, but would appreciate suggestions as well.

EscapedFargo, MidwestMess, FargoJones