I got this little condo that I found down the street a bit, and boy oh boy, is it ever cute. Saturday I will sign the lease and write the first rent check that I have had to write since I was 19 years old and then I will be legit.
This is a fabulous, wonderful sort of thing and I am terribly happy about it for a number of reasons.
One: I can finally have Molly over for Guinness and some cigarettes. No, I didn't start smoking again. I have NO idea what you're talking about....
Two: I can finally let this goshdarn baby cry it out. The trouble with living with friends, close friends, friends who love you, is that the baby never ever has to figure anything out for herself. She cries, someone picks her up. She wants down, someone puts her down. She dislikes her dinner, someone makes her a new meal. She seems to be of the opinion that this is a super-fine way to live and that her momma better step up her game. In short, the kid is a spoiled rotten b.r.a.t. Correction: B.R.A.T. My kindly, dear friends cannot handle the idea of the pwecious wittle baby suffering for more than one moment and she is loving every minute of it. Of course, she is now waking up fairly regularly in the night, realizing that no one is hovering over her and cooing, and taking it upon herself to yell at me in a shockingly stern voice until I remedy the situation. We may eat this kid for Thanksgiving dinner.
Three: Things are getting final. I have no doubt in my mind that an international divorce may be a bit, well....challenging? Yeah, that's the word. So sitting her on my duff not making any progress in the getting-on-with-my-life thingy I'm trying to do is frustrating, to say the very least. But now, now I have my own residence. I have this thing that is completely independent of the marriage and the relationship. I have this thing that is mine. It will be filled with my stuff. I will make my memories in it. And that, dear readers, is true progress and it feels mighty good.
Now, does anybody have any extra forks?