Sunday, September 07, 2008

I have finally been run out of Charlestown by golden retrievers and baby strollers.

Sometimes you wake up next to someone you can't recall ever meeting before and decide you need to make some changes in your life. And sometimes, you wake up on an air mattress next to a train set, a Barbie Dreamhouse, and Monopoly Junior and decide your life could use some adjustments. I recently moved out of the spare room at my aunt and uncle's house (i.e. my little cousin's playroom) that I had been freeloading at for a month and into a "fixer-upper" in the North End. Which is great except that now I actually have to pay rent, no one cooks me dinner, and I have to walk past Mike's Pastry and about a zillion Italian restaurants at least twice a day (if it is at all possible I think I am gaining weight just by breathing). I also estimate that roughly 75% of my decision to move into this apartment was based on the fact that another roommate had a seriously adorable cat.

I spent one Friday night with a bad cold painting my bedroom, by myself, for the first time, and experienced a number of thoughts over the six hour period, including:
1. This is possibly the worst decision I have ever made.
2. I hope my roommate likes blue cats.

Not including: Paint fumes are very dangerous and bad for you and I should probably open a window.

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