The illusion of “status quo.”
This weekend, my apartment undergoes several monumental shakeups; the epicenter being the arrival of a new roommate, Sharlie. From this initial quake are several aftershocks and rampant chaos. Sharlie is moving in this weekend, but our old roommate Kate has not completely moved out, as she is currently stationed out of state for her job. In addition, I am about to move into Kate’s room, meaning that, for right now, all of her belongings–including futon, desk, and bookshelf–have been moved out into the too-small sun room down the hall or into the kitchen, requiring the kitchen table to be pushed to the center. My current room contains a large dresser, a desk, and a single bottom bunk bed. Since I bought a brand new futon this week, I no longer need the clunky, unwieldy, uncomfortable bed, and as such am hoping to call the Salvation Army to have them give it to somebody who appreciates the clunky, unwieldy, uncomfortable bed because they are currently sleeping on collapsed cardboard boxes. Until such time as the Salvation Army sends somebody–who, after yesterday’s developments in the House of Representatives, will most likely not be gay–the old bed might have to be moved to the outside deck. The dresser and desk will be moved into my new, much larger room, where I will make attempts to organize over the weekend.
Of course, a “truckload” (the measurement given me by my roommate Ken) of Sharlie’s stuff is arriving today, and until this evening, when I can move my furnishings out of my old room, which is Sharlie’s new room, the truckload will have to sit in the living room, which is near the sun room and therefore next to Kate’s stuff. It will be a busy, busy night of object moving.
In addition, there are new human dynamics to consider. Not only is Sharlie a person that Cecilia, my third roommate, and I do not know very well, she is somebody who Ken used to date. The drama of the past few months, which I will summarize by saying only that it was a tennis match of will-she-or-won’t-she be moving in, in addition to the drama of their breakups and reconciliations, fill me with foreboding.
In addition to that, Sharlie owns a cat. There are currently four cats in the place, three belonging to Ken and one belonging to Kate. Until Kate can come and collect her feline, there will be five in the place, two of them female, and one of them at least (Kate’s) a bitch-cat of the highest order.
This will be a transition much like the one that took place in January in Washington; not easy, at least by my estimation.
And on top of that, I have a really obnoxious spider-bite on my leg. And it wasn’t even radioactive, which would help me learn the great responsibility that comes with great power.
Creative Control 