back to reality

I haven’t disappeared into the ether—no sir. But I did the next best thing. I moved. To the stixxx (holla, Frederick!).

Moving—when you’re too cheap to hire professional packers and movers and when you’re a bit of a hoarder—is guaranteed to knock you on your ass. In expectation of this, I took all of last week off work and dropped fully and completely out of life as I focused on unpacking shit, rearranging shit, wringing my hands, hemorrhaging money, running errands, and cursing. My TV watching was minimal, because the DirecTV dude won’t come until the 15th, and my rabbit ears ain’t working so well. My internet surfing was minimal because my connection at the new place is terrible (yes, I’m still on dial-up; yes, I’m a cheap bitch). I feel really out of the loop; for all I know, Bush has been assassinated and Paris Hilton has been named the interim president. For a week I disappeared, but now I’m back.

By the end of the first day I looked like a junkie, my arms were so bruised. Over the course of the week I managed to break a few things and rip off a piece of my finger with a disco ball. Yes, a disco ball. Later, after soaking my wounded finger until it was a mushy mess, I pulled that revolting long sliver of embedded disco ball right outta there and prayed no other mirrored shards remained.

There has been a snafu or two during the whole moving process, but for the most part, things went really smoothly, and for that I’m grateful. And this homeowner thing? Is pretty cool. I think I can get used to this.


song heard most recently before posting:
I’ll Be Home for Christmas—Flipped Fedoras