I have been in Florida for the past 8 days, sunning myself, eating cake, swimming, visiting friends, drinking tequila, and all around avoiding responsibilities of all kinds. It was wonderful, and for the first time in 7 years, I was not happy to be heading back to NYC.
Part of this is because I don't want to go back to my life of work, cleaning, cooking, walking dogs, etc., and part of this is because my new Brooklyn abode is still pretty much a wreck. I forgot how hard moving is, since I haven't done it in about 6 years, and boy howdy, does it suck. How the hell did I amass so much crap since 2002? I pride myself on not keeping unnecessary junk and knick knacks, but somehow they manage to wriggle into my life, anyway.
With any luck and motivation, my new place will be looking less like a squatter's camp and more like a home by Friday, and I will not have murdered my husband by cracking his skull with the frying pan.
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