That's what Bill Murray, as Bob Wiley, says in "What About Bob".
"Talk about...moving," replies Dr. Marvin (Richard Dreyfuss, of course...). So I think I will. Except I'm talking about the "throw all your junk in boxes, leave some of it by the Dumpster, haul some of it to the Salvation Army, drive yourself completely insane for a week, and end up in your childhood bedroom" variety.
It's a fantastic party. Won't you join me? Here's the photo album.
And here are a few highlights that get front page treatment.
This is my arm now. Isn't it pretty? This is what happens when I wake up with some She-ra Princess of Power delusion and carry a 19-inch monitor down 47 steps (did I mention there were 47 OF THEM?) all alone. With no one even home to know if the plummeting had occurred. (PS. The other arm matches, and both sort of contrast with my sweater, don't they? This was totally not intentional, making it hipster bruise chic, I think.)
About a week ago, I was walking outside to go to work in the morning and saw this empty box (found behind gas station counters everywhere, correct?) on the landing outside my apartment. Because I've been so aggravated at the management for leaving the place in such a shambles outside lately, I've been leaving such things - not that I'd be in a raging hurry to pick this beauty up anyway. I figure if they're going to show models in this building and want this kind of exterior decorating accessories laying around, good for them. Anyway, by the time I started moving out, it had migrated down to the bottom floor, on the concrete. I walked by it probably - no exaggeration - 100 times this week. I sort of miss it now. But, thanks to the wonders of photography, need never forget.
I saw this shirt in Target on Sunday when I went to get more storage containers. I still think I want it. I so don't need it, but I think it matches the bruises nicely.
Cable and Internet cut off on Sunday night at exactly 10:27 p.m. Weird. 
And even weirder that the tv shut off right in the middle of Willie Aames's meltdown on Celebrity Fit Club 2. Anyway, I never got a stable wireless connection, but not for lack of trying.
I woke up in a stupor on my papasan cushion on Monday morning, stumbled over to shut off the alarm, and tripped over some implement of death that was sitting on the floor, shearing the top layer of skin off of my almost littlest toe. It was a very unhappy time. I think this picture is funny. And it is true that a Thing One Band-Aid DOES take a little bit of the pain away. Just a little.
G-town sunset. It was a good place for the most part. I am so happy that I lived there. Things I learned:
*No third floor, ever again.
*Hire attractive moving men. Eye candy. No bruises. Happiness.
*I like living where I can walk to places I need to go.
*My cousin Mack is the best, and it's usually my family who shows up when I need it.
*Even a standard apartment with beige carpet is home, when you walk through empty rooms and remember time you spent living in them, either alone or with people you love. It also really helps to paint your name on the wall. 
Kitchen graffitti is the best.
Comments