So, basically, since I've been stressed about starting school again and moving apartments, I've hid out for most of the month of August. I haven't talked to anyone much, save my immediate family (me and The Mom putting in some quality time during the move) and The BFF, who I have repeatedly texted with questions such as "You know what's super helpful on moving day? Movers that show up on time" and "How many curse words does it take to hang up a mirror? Because I've said nine and the darn thing is still laying on my couch. (And yes, that's edited for your reading enjoyment.) Did the run-on sentence just there give me away?
I've also texted The Aunt with interactions such as this:
Don't be fooled by this post into thinking I am done with the big move, as I assure you I am not. I got most of the big stuff out of the old place, and over to the new place, leaving only a few odds and ends.
And the cleaning part. You know... the part that hasn't been done in the five years I've lived there as The Mother oh-so-helpfully pointed out this morning. I worked for five hours in that place, save a trip to Goodwill and a stop at the Sonic for a diet cherry coke.
And it's still not done. All the cleaning's done (without having to call the big guns like professional cleaners or the CDC might I add) but there are about three more trips to the car left over there. See, I haven't needed my crockpot, my ninja blender, or any cleaning products since I moved into my shiny new place.
I'd be happy to share pictures with you, but while everything's unpacked, very little is up on the walls (but the mirror is, so help me Gawd), so there are piles of things everywhere. I had the forethought to unpack and put away everything in my bedroom and kitchen first, which turned out to be a mistake because there is now ZERO urgency to deal with anything else, being that schoolstartsthedayaftertomorrowareyoukiddingme?
As for Daisy in the new apartment? If I told you she's adjusting well my pants would catch fire. My new kitchen has the perfect space for a pet gate, so she doesn't have the run of the apartment. Problem: she likes having the run of the apartment. The first weekend I went anywhere without her, she barked for hours on end, and I came home to a dog that looked and acted like she had run a marathon. Which I knew better, because we are just not runners in this house.
I bought her a barking thing that emits that ultrasonic sound when she barks, and while it stopped the barking, it created a new problem. Now that she couldn't bark, she had plenty of time to try to figure out how to get out from behind the Gate of Doom. On Monday, when I came home from my first day back at work, she greeted me at the door. I felt certain she had knocked the gate down and I had just wasted my money.
Not so much. The gate was still intact. Meaning, she either pole vaulted it or hurdled it, or unfastened it, stepped onto the other side, and then fastened it back. At this point, I wouldn't put any of those options past her. The one good thing going on in regards to her is that potty training in this new apartment is going rather well. So, at nine years old, she's finally basically potty trained.
We're slow learners here.