Now, though people of colour may be partially to blame for my agonizing estrangement from you goons, I further blame the move.
On the new apartment:
I like it.
My room has enough space for my bed and my couch.
Which was my bed.
There's a huge bay window which I fear will bring with it the cold air once winter hits us.
Next month.
It has blinds, and my bed being right in front of the window, I'm worried that people may see my sexual exploits through them.
And I have enough trauma in my life without the mailman seeing me masturbate at two in the afternoon.
That's when I do it.
I still need to set up my stereo.
I hate any activity that involves great masses of wiring.
What was I talking about?
Oh yeah!
My being not here.
Well, there's a games room.
Which is where the video games go.
I also plan to put up a NO GIRLS ALLOWED! sign, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.
I want to put up a piece of paper in here that says:
BREASTS IN WHITE SHIRTS WITH WATER OVER THEM
Something like that.
Colin will make me put it on my side.
Being the realist that he is, he'll be more interested in the depiction of actual...y'know.
Hooters.
The electrical outlet on my side of the room is in the closet.
Far from my computer.
Which, consequently, is still only partially unboxed.
I have to use Colin's computer as a result.
But as soon as he comes home, he kicks me off of it.
I am seven again.
I want a laptop.
But unless my spreadsheets are off, I'm violently not in the market right now.
Today I had a great idea to counteract this issue:
I can use the typewriter that Jana gave me as a birthday gift.
Then I remembered which decade I'm in.
And how the internet works.
Thus leaving this plan, like so many others of mine, dashed.
Due to pesky logistics.
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