Oh-KAY.

Things are finally fucking settling down enough to the point I can stay up late and do a little writing. We're basically moved into the apartment, although there's cardboard boxes everywhere. We have a lot of books between the two of us, and I'm afraid that a lot of them are just going to stay boxed in the closet. She actually went out and bought a cardboard scratch toy for the cat, which is pretty funny because it's not like there's a shortage.

The apartment's great. I'm glad I let her talk me into it. Here's the real attraction for me: When you look out the living room window of a house, you see your lawn, and the lawn across the street. Fucking boring, totally static. Maybe one day a drunken mook will crash into your car, but it'll probably happen in the dead of night when you're asleep, and you'll miss it. Generally, then, just lawns. Some lawns are okay, some lawns are disgusting, some lawns are too weird to be believed. There is no such thing - there is no such thing - as a beautiful lawn. Never has been. Ever in the history of god. Not one. Know what I see now when I look out my living room window?

Well, it isn't a fucking lawn.

I'm writing this on her grandfather's computer, which, he being recently deceased, has come into our possession. It's kind of a clunker. Downloading music isn't really going to be an option, and I'm not actually sure if I'll be able to upload my own pictures or not. I doubt it. There's something wonky with the photo software on it too; every image has lines going through it like it's been run through a printer with bleeding inkjets.

Work is different too, again. I'm now a loader operator, which unless you're a totally cloistered idiot, isn't something I should have to explain to you. The company just keeps setting balls on tees of different heights, and I just keep batting 'em out of the playground, or something like that. It even feels like I finally have a grown man's job. Not that any of this is going to count for crap if I look for a job somewhere else. Still, it's nice to be appreciated where one works. I'm well into my best working years, and this is the first place I've felt it.

I'm even - holy shitcakes - sort of trying to be a musician again, in a band, even. No name yet, although I'm kinda leaning toward Manorexia.

All of this has left me running on fumes financially. I actually had to use my groaning Visa to buy some Mickey D's after work last night, it's gotten that bad. But the old house is rented out now, and I'm out from under the crushing power and gas bills that came with the place, and it won't be long before we'll start recouping some jang.

This post has been excruciatingly plebeian, quotidian, and except for a smattering of hip profanity, totally sublimated. But I'm just getting started again. Wait for me. Wait! I can be good I promise! Bawww...