I'm living in a disaster zone in preparation for moving to the "big city" in a week.
The good news is that my two cats are in hog heaven with the chaos, the piles, and the unimaginable number of bugs and other sundry critters that I've found behind the panels of fabric I used to mask the ugly barn board walls that this apartment sports.
The other good news is that to quote frequent cerebral drool reader Cranston Barry's email to me:
"Happened to be riding my bike around the North End Yesterday and ended up at a lawn sale at your new apartment, held by the current residents.
Bought a few books, met your new landlord, told him of your fascination with home-thermonuclear-experimentation, and he was down with that. Looks like a nice place."
So luckily when I burn down the joint with my fondness for spray painting and flaming alcoholic beverages, the new landlord won't be surprised. (note to all future landlords, please disregard the former reference to "burning down the joint". I'm a fantastic tenant with excellent references. Trust me.)
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