Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Moving and Shaking
Two days in a row now I have come home to find my (ex?) roommate in my apartment. Just hanging out there, watching TV, having a few drinks, perhaps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’m not sure if he just misses the ambiance or if there’s been some sort of domestic squabble at his new quarters, but I do find it somewhat odd. I mean, he’s got a huge new flatscreen in his condo not thirty yards away. Unless he’s an archeologist, I don’t see what his interest is in my old Sony.
And yet the "Poverty Sucks" poster and the framed sheet of money have yet to make the move.
Also moving out this week were the Girls We Don’t Like on the Second Floor. Gone are the multiple bags of month-old trash from the back porch, the strange and unearthly sex noises at four in the morning, and the lumps of congealed laundry left to languish in the washer. There will be no more unfriendly grunts of greeting and averted eyes as we pass on the stairs. I guess we’ll have to find someone else to leave the front door to the building open for days on end. It’s sort of sad, in a way. I think everyone needs a nemesis.
Maybe I should move. Cast off the shackles of my city living and buy a farm somewhere or something. We could grow sorghum. I’d want to have a few head of cattle, too, though, just because I think they’re cute. I feel like I’d make a good farmer. I’d just have to make sure to stock up on sanitary hand wipes.
Two days in a row now I have come home to find my (ex?) roommate in my apartment. Just hanging out there, watching TV, having a few drinks, perhaps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’m not sure if he just misses the ambiance or if there’s been some sort of domestic squabble at his new quarters, but I do find it somewhat odd. I mean, he’s got a huge new flatscreen in his condo not thirty yards away. Unless he’s an archeologist, I don’t see what his interest is in my old Sony.
And yet the "Poverty Sucks" poster and the framed sheet of money have yet to make the move.
Also moving out this week were the Girls We Don’t Like on the Second Floor. Gone are the multiple bags of month-old trash from the back porch, the strange and unearthly sex noises at four in the morning, and the lumps of congealed laundry left to languish in the washer. There will be no more unfriendly grunts of greeting and averted eyes as we pass on the stairs. I guess we’ll have to find someone else to leave the front door to the building open for days on end. It’s sort of sad, in a way. I think everyone needs a nemesis.
Maybe I should move. Cast off the shackles of my city living and buy a farm somewhere or something. We could grow sorghum. I’d want to have a few head of cattle, too, though, just because I think they’re cute. I feel like I’d make a good farmer. I’d just have to make sure to stock up on sanitary hand wipes.
