Last week we learned that our across-the-hall neighbor was moving out, for reasons far too genuinely depressing to mention, so we soberly and respectfully arranged to take his apartment, since it is much bigger and there are doors. Doors! I feel like the freaking Sun King, what with the decadence and the Infanta-fucking. Did you know that our previous apartment had no doors? Except for the bathroom, and we didn't even particularly need that one--with the ocean so close, who uses a toilet? We might have been able to install a bedroom door, except for the fact that the landlord decided to cut a huge gaping "decorative accent window" in the bedroom wall before we moved in, for no reason that we could discern. Anyway, we've spent the last few days moving all of our worldly things ten feet to the north*, which has fucked with the cat's mind so severely that she does not know which way is up. Is that God's beard, she asks me despairingly, or a tuft of Santa's hell-pubes? And I do not know the answer.
Which is to say, I return tomorrow in full illustrative force.
*Direction picked at random, since I have compasses neither moral, material or instinctual