My momma is arriving tomorrow afternoon, to spend a week with me, and I have not done one single thing to get ready. My apartment is mired in filth, I neglected to arrange that bike I was (am) going to borrow for her, and I hope she likes grocery stores, because we are going to have to visit one.
Also, I think I killed my mint plant. Again. I hate how you have to remember to water plants over and over. It's so tedious.
At some point, I am going to drag myself off this couch and clean. Well, first I am going to go for a jog, because I'm trying (again) to be a jogger, and then I'm going to clean. Probably. I might leave it for the morning, because what gets an apartment clean faster than the pressure of knowing that you only have two hours before you have to go to the airport to pick up your momma?
It isn't that my momma is particularly picky about cleanliness. It's more that no one should be expected to live in this level of someone else's filth, even if they changed that person's diapers 30 years ago. (Side note: ew.)
I also need to start packing up this apartment, because I intend to move. So I said, anyway, in the letter that I raced home to give to the apartment office before it closed at 6. Blah, blah, effective August 15, blah.
Delivering that letter to the office has been immediately followed by that "oh, crap" feeling so common to having set in motion things you cannot stop. Will not stop, I suppose, is more accurate, because I suspect that the building manager will be offering me such inducements as waiving the month-to-month fee. I will not stop it, though, even though I hate moving. I just cannot save enough, living here, paying this rent, to make a down payment somewhere else.
Somewhere else is, of course, the key. Where else? Here, there, everywhere. My entire life feels suspended right now.
Also, I think I killed my mint plant. Again. I hate how you have to remember to water plants over and over. It's so tedious.
At some point, I am going to drag myself off this couch and clean. Well, first I am going to go for a jog, because I'm trying (again) to be a jogger, and then I'm going to clean. Probably. I might leave it for the morning, because what gets an apartment clean faster than the pressure of knowing that you only have two hours before you have to go to the airport to pick up your momma?
It isn't that my momma is particularly picky about cleanliness. It's more that no one should be expected to live in this level of someone else's filth, even if they changed that person's diapers 30 years ago. (Side note: ew.)
I also need to start packing up this apartment, because I intend to move. So I said, anyway, in the letter that I raced home to give to the apartment office before it closed at 6. Blah, blah, effective August 15, blah.
Delivering that letter to the office has been immediately followed by that "oh, crap" feeling so common to having set in motion things you cannot stop. Will not stop, I suppose, is more accurate, because I suspect that the building manager will be offering me such inducements as waiving the month-to-month fee. I will not stop it, though, even though I hate moving. I just cannot save enough, living here, paying this rent, to make a down payment somewhere else.
Somewhere else is, of course, the key. Where else? Here, there, everywhere. My entire life feels suspended right now.
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