I am NEVER moving again. I am here for fucking life. I don’t care if my roomies hate me or if I hate my roomies, I am staying. It’s good that I came to this resolve at this time, because I love this place anyway and I don’t miss my loft at all.

Moving was a nine hour ordeal. Chef and I loaded all of our belongings into the U-Haul, which was also supposed to hold TOR’s stuff, but ours took up all the room. So we had to drive halfway across town to pick up TOR and the new house keys, drive all the way downtown, move all of our belongings in, and then head back to get her stuff. We loaded the U-Haul with her belongings, drove back to my old apartment to take apart my futon, drove to the OTHER SIDE of the town to deposit TOR’s old bed with its rightful owner, then moved all of her stuff into the new apartment.

Epic. Totally fucking epic.

But we’re here. My body is screaming at me. The palms of my hands are bruised. I have open sores and wounds, and bruises on my legs.

Everything was tossed in the living room by 12 a.m., and by 1 we had dug out the corkscrew, two wineglasses, and the boys’ homemade wine (delicious, btw). We toasted to a job well done, and then shot back some Zambuca-type liquor.

Our saviour.

Excuse me for looking like a grease monkey. It’s been a long day. More to follow, I’m about to climb into my incredibly amazing new bed so I can stare at my fireplace.