Had the dreaded "I'm moving out" conversation with my current landlord (female version) this morning. It went pretty much as badly as I'd thought it might - she was pissed, though not exactly at me. More like, "Aw crap, we thought we had it all settled and now we're losing a good one." The problem, from my perspective? The very next words out of her mouth: "Well, you know we'll have to be showing it."
OMFGWTFBBQYou mean, for the next two weeks, while I'm trying to pack in an organized (HA!) way, and get people corralled to help me move on the first national holiday of the summer (HA!), and also work full-time and not completely lose what's left of my mind, I'm
also supposed to keep my apartment clean and tidy enough for random strangers to be poking through it, wanting to rent it?! Are you freakin'
kidding me?!
So, step one, tonight, is to get all financial information that's just lounging around on my desk the fook OFFF my desk and filed away, as it should have been a long time ago. And to get the carpet vacuumed, the dishes washed, the bathroom turned back into a girl bathroom
(i.e. mostly clean & tidy), the garbage out, the empty boxes stacked, the packed boxes stacked more sensibly, and the bed moved so it's in front of the bedroom windows that are covered with foil (so the landlords won't have to deal with answering
that particular question until I'm safely out of this place). Ughhhhhhh. So much for reading a book with my feet up, ordering a pizza for dinner, writing a long, lazy blog post about How to Save a Life, and maybe going to bed early.
[title quotation by Martin H. Fischer]
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