I'm at work. I think I've exhausted all of my forms of time-wasting. I get to leave in an hour. I think I'll take a walk when I get home. Maybe after dinner. I'm so gonna do it, though. I will NOT let myself go home, change into pajamas (no need for that, I'm already wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; thank god the for the office being closed), turn on the TV and watch reruns of Will & Grace and Friends all night. Crap, phone is ringing.
Ok, line one keeps ringing, and when I answer the phone THERE'S NO ONE THERE. Not even one of those heavy-breathers. It's like the phone line gets bored and thinks, "Hmm, I will make the phone ring in this office because I bet the person there is bored." And, while the phone line would be correct, the person in this office IS bored, I'd much rather try to alleviate my boredom with e-mail and Craigslist than phantom phone calls.
I'm going apartment hunting on Saturday. I'm veeeeeeery excited, as evidenced by all the e's in the previous very. I have a list of apartments to hit up, I have a list of questions to ask, I'm freaking ready to sign a lease. Just hand me a pen. Or a pencil. Hell, I'll sign in blood if that's what they want.
I'm so excited about this whole moving out thing that I'm not even too picky about what I want the apartment to have. Yes, I'd like the complex to have a pool, but it's not necessary. I'd only be able to use it for three months of the year, at best. I'd like air conditioning, but I can live without it. I'd rather not, but I could. I'm not planning on getting a pet. As much as I'd love to get a puppy, I don't want to be tied down with anything in case I want to up and go to, say, Chicago for the weekend. I can leave Fish alone all weekend and he'll probably still be alive. I mean, if I haven't killed him yet I don't think anything will. Some of the apartments I'm looking at are studios. I'm interested to see those just to see if I'd be able to live in one. I don't even care if the apartment is tiny as long as it's MINE.