Saturday, April 26, 2014

I'm bleeding out...


I'm sitting in the living room of my new apartment with my darling daughter...we're both on our computers and watching an awesome comedian named Gabriel Iglesias on TV, and laughing hysterically.

The fact that we're in our living room and watching TV is something I still can't quite get over. For over a year, Chelsea and I hadn't been able to relax in our living room and hang out together, and this is just. so. nice!

I love our new place. It's full of natural light, and the hardwood floors are so shiny and beautiful, and it has such possibilities. It's true, it needs a lot of work, but I don't care. The feeling of freedom I have here is priceless.

We're on the second floor again, but with a huge difference. Just to get up to our building we have to walk up a gauntlet of steps on a very steep hill; by the time I get to the actual steps to get up to my apartment, I have to stop and take a breather. When I'm carrying groceries or something, forget it - I start seeing black spots before my eyes on the last flight of stairs, it's pretty funny.

This is the type of place where everyone knows everyone else and hangs with each other. It makes me a little uncomfortable, actually, because I'm not the social type. I've already told Chelsea she will have to do all the socializing for us.

So...I think the current school of thought on me is, um, crazy, flaky, scattered, suggestible and absent. That's just the impression I have, anyway.

I think it's because I moved, and so quickly. People aren't used to me doing anything, much less in a hurry. I'm definitely more of a turtle type. I've only made a few major decisions in my life:

1. I had a daughter.
2. I decided NOT to work in a factory.
3. I graduated from college with a degree in Philosophy.
4. I moved.
5. I moved again.

That's all I can think of.

But anyway, this is what I come up with when people ask why I moved:

To co-workers: I had to move because my floor-sleeper wouldn't leave.
To family: Um...because...it's closer to work?

Neither of these seem to be an acceptable answer to people. I wonder why?

.......................................................................

It's 2 a.m., and I've relocated to my bedroom. I'm trying desperately to end this useless post, but my daughter followed me in here and is playing with my kitty. Chelsea isn't going to bed anytime soon, she came home from work at 9 p.m. and this is Happy Hour.

I am sooo old!