Should you ever find yourself sitting about, thinking, “Hmm. I’m just starting two new jobs, trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, and I’m moving into a month-to-month lease all in the course of two weeks. I think I’ll start a blog.”, give me a holler so I can come over & smack you.

My life is in boxes now, & from the looks of it my life consists solely of cheap Target furniture & books. Hundreds upon hundreds of books. I swear to you, I moved here last June with no more than my Y the Last Man collection (book 10 WHERE ARE YOU??!), & now I sit here faced with SIX CRATES of books, not to mention the FOUR I brought back to my parents’ house over Memorial Day weekend. This paperback proliferation leads me to twisted visions of late night novel parties, Neil Gaiman swinging from the chandeliers, F. Scott Fitzgerald drunk & pissing under my desk, & Dostoyevsky skulking on a couch (because, seriously? who invited Dostoyevsky?).

In my packing, I have uncovered the following:

  • my retainer (sorry, Dr. Jung)
  • my glasses (sorry, Dr. Joe)
  • half a bag of Swedish Fish…from Christmas
  • a business card for a rental car company, featuring the personal phone number of Andres, who, upon pulling over to the side of the road while I sobbed hysterically in the back seat, swore to me he would “Never, ever make a pretty girl cry. Ever. A good man never make any woman cry. Except sometimes. But other times never.”
  • a stack of old resumes, which led me to realize that I go through jobs like Kate Moss through blow.

I unfortunately did not find whatever it is that is has been making that terrible wheezing noise every night for the last month & a half. May the next resident of my cell-sized bedroom be a heavy sleeper.

This is all, of course, a roundabouts way of saying I AM CRAZY BUSY RIGHT NOW. THE EMBARRASSING PARLOR TRICKS ARE COMING. I PROMISE. PLEASE. HOLD TIGHT. STAY TUNED.

&, if you really care, send some housewarming gifts. I got me some new digs, & it’s gonna be sweet.

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