Nervousisity
I am anxious today. Last night I returned to my apartment from Huntington at about one o'clock, very tired, and there was a note on the door from the management, as there sometimes is. It said that on July 2, a representative from the apartment office and an insurance agent will be "inspecting" all of the apartments.
Immediately my brain is all "WTF, mate? What does that mean? Oh noes, oh noes! My apartment is a horrible mess! It smells like mice and cat hairballs! You can't even get in the hallway closet to look at the central air thingy because of the massive pile of pop cans I keep meaning to recycle! I still have unpacked boxes from moving in last March! OMGWTFBBQIDUNNOWHATTHISMEANSWHATIFIGETKICKEDOUTBECAUSEICAN'TKEEPTHREEROOMSANDABATHROOMREASONABLYCLEAN???!!!!!111!!Eleventy!"
I do believe that my dreams were in all caps.
I woke up much too early and couldn't really sleep, and I am so so tired yet still far too wired to really be sleepy and my work is probably suffering.
No, really, what did this mean? Are they going to be going through all the rooms and checking stuff? I do remember there being something in the lease about an expectation to keep the apartment not exactly a trash heap, and, you know, don't let the pipes freeze, and things like that, but I never paid much attention. I've been there more than a year now and I don't remember this ever happening before. I'm on, like, this sort of stress high, and when I get home I'm going to attack my apartment like a cleaning whirlwind. My pets will think I have gone completely mad, for I will be exactly unlike anything I have ever been before.
I just know, I just KNOW, that my apartment is going to be declared a fire hazard. I wave the white hanky flag of surrender. There is too much to be done and too little time to do it in, and I am far too lazy. In all likelihood, when I get home this evening I'm just going to play Guitar Hero, and think about cleaning, but not actually do it. OMGSODEAD.
My poor mice. What will happen to them when I'm homeless and living on the street? Taffy, I can find a home for, but my mice? Oh poor darlings. OMGSOSCREWEDSCREWEDSCREWED.
Goodness, I don't think I've ever felt quite this panicked before, and all probably over nothing. I mean, it's probably just checking for mold or something, right? Right?
Agh, my life is over.
Immediately my brain is all "WTF, mate? What does that mean? Oh noes, oh noes! My apartment is a horrible mess! It smells like mice and cat hairballs! You can't even get in the hallway closet to look at the central air thingy because of the massive pile of pop cans I keep meaning to recycle! I still have unpacked boxes from moving in last March! OMGWTFBBQIDUNNOWHATTHISMEANSWHATIFIGETKICKEDOUTBECAUSEICAN'TKEEPTHREEROOMSANDABATHROOMREASONABLYCLEAN???!!!!!111!!Eleventy!"
I do believe that my dreams were in all caps.
I woke up much too early and couldn't really sleep, and I am so so tired yet still far too wired to really be sleepy and my work is probably suffering.
No, really, what did this mean? Are they going to be going through all the rooms and checking stuff? I do remember there being something in the lease about an expectation to keep the apartment not exactly a trash heap, and, you know, don't let the pipes freeze, and things like that, but I never paid much attention. I've been there more than a year now and I don't remember this ever happening before. I'm on, like, this sort of stress high, and when I get home I'm going to attack my apartment like a cleaning whirlwind. My pets will think I have gone completely mad, for I will be exactly unlike anything I have ever been before.
I just know, I just KNOW, that my apartment is going to be declared a fire hazard. I wave the white hanky flag of surrender. There is too much to be done and too little time to do it in, and I am far too lazy. In all likelihood, when I get home this evening I'm just going to play Guitar Hero, and think about cleaning, but not actually do it. OMGSODEAD.
My poor mice. What will happen to them when I'm homeless and living on the street? Taffy, I can find a home for, but my mice? Oh poor darlings. OMGSOSCREWEDSCREWEDSCREWED.
Goodness, I don't think I've ever felt quite this panicked before, and all probably over nothing. I mean, it's probably just checking for mold or something, right? Right?
Agh, my life is over.