A phone call from God, herself.

Last night, for the fourth night in a row, we slept in the spare bedroom of my parents' house. It's cozy, it is. We can have cats in bed with us, if we'd like. Occasionally a dog. There's a door. But the problem is it's NOT MINE. Do you know what it's like to live out of an overstuffed bag? To not have anywhere to rest my toothbrush in the bathroom?

Try horrendous. That's how it is.

But the apartment complex called us today. And after a three-day background and credit check, they've decided we're worthy enough of a one-bedroom apartment. Brand new. I guess that one time I killed a guy does not reflect negatively on my record.

We could, if we were rational (by "we" I mean "I"), wait until the weekend to move, so we can load and unload all the goods at once. Besides, we probably can't get a moving truck until then, anyway. But I am crazy. Irrational, perhaps. Impatient. That's the word I want. And so I'm demanding the keys today. Now.

And so tonight we'll pack up our bags, grab some pillows and an air mattress, load up The Cats and sleep on the floor of OUR APARTMENT. Because it's OURS. And we'll have an ADDRESS.

And I am totally running around naked in it. BECAUSE I CAN.