Don't Say Sí, Say Oui

So I'm moving. To be honest, everythings moving. Legal battles, tax debts, employment status -- there's just all sorts of things happening at once. The antebellum is gonna rock, but right now it's utter Guadalcanal just trying to keep all the plates spinning at the same time.

That being said, I'm totally jazzed about the new digs.

Not that I haven't loved everything that my apartment signified and all the wonderful and inappropriately loud memories that have originated there -- but I think there's such a thing as staying somewhere too long.

It's gonna be an interesting switch though, because I'm going from a privately owned quadraplex in a quiet neighborhood to a corner unit in a large complex in one of the busier areas of town. It was a choice I made consciously, because I was looking for a place with more features and a better commute -- but you never really know what you're in for with the shared dumpster/community mail-stop set until you've been there for a while.

The other thing is that to get the features and location that I wanted, I had to shell out more money while surrendering a hunk of square footage. I don't think it will be that big of an adjustment for me --

But I gotta tell you, I'm a bit concerned about the way my roommates are gonna handle it.

Because in addition to losing the only home they've ever really known since I got them, the new pad will be the first time the cats get to experience carpeted floors (the current digs are hardwood). Now don't get me wrong here -- they're both housebroken, and generally pretty good about keeping their messes where they are supposed to be, but this was all prior to moving into the place where the floor feels like a ball of yarn.

So we'll have to see how things go with all that -- but until then, it's all about the anticipation for clean dishes. Yes friends, I'm back on the dishwasher bus. Stupid as it may sound, this is a huge deal for me. I'm all about push-button cleansing, the white noise, the steam that flies out when you open the door, the me not having to do it by hand anymore -- I swear, it's like frikkin' Christmas.

Of course you can't have light without darkness -- and there's plenty of that to be found just a few steps away in an adjoining closet where my brand new washer and dryer live.

See, I know lots of people who love doing laundry. The warm clothes out of the dryer, the aroma that fills the room -- I even know some people who claim to like the process of folding clothes because they find it sort of relaxing like tai chi or something.

I on the other hand, fucking hate it.

You know what I like? Giving my clothes to the laundromat and coming back a day later. But those days are over. Now if I look like crap it's gonna be my fault.

..And no amount of clean dishes is gonna cover that up.

[Listening to:  Dry Kill Logic – "Hindsight" ]