There’s this thing hanging on the wall to my left. It’s a framed piece of artwork–oil pastels, I think–an abstract, which, if one were to concentrate on it for a while would begin to look like a stick figure with big grandma boobs. It’s a nice enough drawing–framed, too. What bugs me about it is the note, which says:
Kim is writing and needs time to herself. Please be quiet on the stairs.
Yes, friends, it has come to this. Thing is, I didn’t put the note (or the drawing) on the wall. I didn’t write the note, didn’t ask anyone to write it, didn’t even talk to anyone about what I do down in my little hole of a room. Someone (and we can all guess who) took the initiative to create this whole thing and (I can only guess) annoy/confuse/generally bother his mother by doing so. So far no one’s said anything about the thing; it was hanging here when I got home last night.
No one’s said anything about the chore list, either, which–apparantly–is designed to keep track of when the kitty litter box was last changed, when the plants were last watered and when the last vacuuming took place. I’m not sure what that’s all about, either.
Needless to say, I’m going to do some pretty serious apartment scouting this weekend. Got to. Sure, I only have $37 in the bank and sure my phone doesn’t work because I haven’t paid the bill this month. So what? I’ll get a real paycheck sometime soon. And then I’ll be packin’ up and headin’ out.
God, I hope that’s the case. I really and truly hope so.