Why am I horrified? Well, it’s not because Apparent Dip is in France and Spain for two weeks, leaving me alone in an apartment that feels way too big without him. Truth be told, (and my independent sense of self is disappointed at this) I have always been plagued by nightmares and I don’t sleep well when he’s not here. This is due, in part, to the fact that there seems to be (what I call) a scary-show marathon on TV whenever he’s not here to soothe my overactive imagination. And by scary shows I mean anything relating to murder, stalking, and the deeds of bad people in general. Needless to say, besides Murder She Wrote, I try to avoid all crime shows and the news, relying on my trusty Netflix queue to give me tons of cheesy chick-flicks. And even though we do have three crazy cats and a bunny to fill up space, they seem to prefer the space directly under my feet (or, while I’m doing yoga, they prefer the mat right underneath me). Moreover, my cats like to play a little game called “let’s freak Loose Baggy Monster out.” They will suddenly look intently at absolutely nothing (usually a darkened room or hallway), making me think that something/one is there, lurking.

To get back to the point, however, I’m actually horrified because we’re moving in a little over a month, and our current landlord is showing our apartment today. He called me this morning to tell me, which in turn forced me to face the fact that we live in a pit. Our genetic codes may have predisposed us to clutter, but we have taken it to a new level.

Part of the problem is that we never really moved in. When we first arrived out here after four looooooong days of driving cross-country, we arrived at our first apartment at three in the morning. I was so excited to see our new place, because it felt like this was our first real move together. We’ve been together since freshmen year of college, but whenever we moved before we did so independently or to cities one of us was already familiar with. I had moved out to Apparent Dip’s apartment on the west coast because he was in grad school, and then, after my master’s degree I moved 800 miles away for my first attempt at a ph.d. The move we made last August was our first move together to a new place that neither of us had lived in before. It was our place, our city. So it was with much relief and excitement that I opened the door to our new home, a three-bedroom apartment with a full dining room, which we had rented based on (artfully taken) pictures provided on the internet. And … I promptly burst into tears.

It. Was. Disgusting.

Needless to say, four college boys had lived there before us, and NO ONE and I mean, no one, had cleaned the place. I don’t do well with mold, and there was evidence of mice, we could tell where the garbage can had been in the kitchen (because there was still food on the floor), beer cans littered the porch and attic, and oy….we decided we had to break our lease and find someplace else. Before we could do that, however, our car was broken into and we got into a nasty battle with our landlord. It was not pretty (neither was I for that matter, as I have a wee bit of a temper). It all worked out, however, and we ended up in the place we’re in now. It was unfinished when we moved in, but we were desperate, and now? Now it’s still unfinished and we never fully moved in, which means: we just left odd boxes around, never found places for everything and now that we’re moving, I found myself faced with an insurmountable cleaning task. Thus my response: Horrified panic.

So now I’m an hour late for work, the house is only marginally better, and I’m really glad I had time to do my yoga this morning, or things would have been worse.

Oh, and I know I’ve been a bad blogger lately. I’ve actually written three posts that never made it beyond the draft stage because I don’t have much to say right now. But hopefully this evening I’ll get things together and report on some of the reading that I’ve done lately (which isn’t much). And I’ll have a report on the books I acquired last week (my library had a book sale). Back soon.

2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by David on June 24, 2007 at 11:15 am

    After just having done a large-scale move I can feel your pain. Good luck with it, and I’ve heard that boxes do pack and load themselves.


  2. Posted by Loose Baggy Monster on June 24, 2007 at 11:18 am

    So far the boxes refuse to pack themselves (I think they’re on strike), but we have bribed several friends with pizza and beer to help on moving day (mwa ha, ha, ha, ha).


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