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Home Sweet Reasonable Facsimile Of Home
Mar. 21st, 2019 11:08 amI am hoooommmmme. Travel was Uniquely Horrible (fucked up the booking! paid an outrageous amount of money for the new ticket! hour and a half storm delay and a tight connection! turbulence! so much fucking turbulence!) but let's focus on the good stuff - not being on the West Coast anymore. Fuck that place.
The other puddlejumper passengers and I bonded over the horrible flight delay. I had a great talk with a fellow passenger about how horrible that place was (he was raised near there and currently lives in Alaska, good for him) and he was very amused by my stories of the Goat Walk, the Tylenol Alternative, the Smuggled President Statue, the Baking Soda Town Square Banner, and the various other shenanigans I encountered.
I am home. Got a midnight burger on the drive home, my dad soldered my glasses before I went to bed, and my room is tiled, grouted, and painted. It even contains most of my furniture, though my mother was unable to restrain herself from trying to 'improve' it by putting things where they do not belong. They were like that for a reason, dammit. I also had to strip the duvet off my bed and find my real blankets before I could sleep. RIP my real pillow. The sole improvement I will concede is that they took the frosted glass bowl off my ceiling fan and put a paper lampshade on it, allowing it to fit a full size lightbulb.
So I have a busy day of furniture moving ahead of me, and then I must start transferring the bookshelf in load by load and unfuck it, then gotta find all my clothes, get my possessions from all around the house, unload my suitcases, oh my god they took down all my art and plastered over the nail holes, this is going to be such a chore. But hey, real room! Not a pit of rubble! Has my real actual bed in it, with legs attached and everything! It's not in the middle of a creepy forest! Life is looking up.
The other puddlejumper passengers and I bonded over the horrible flight delay. I had a great talk with a fellow passenger about how horrible that place was (he was raised near there and currently lives in Alaska, good for him) and he was very amused by my stories of the Goat Walk, the Tylenol Alternative, the Smuggled President Statue, the Baking Soda Town Square Banner, and the various other shenanigans I encountered.
I am home. Got a midnight burger on the drive home, my dad soldered my glasses before I went to bed, and my room is tiled, grouted, and painted. It even contains most of my furniture, though my mother was unable to restrain herself from trying to 'improve' it by putting things where they do not belong. They were like that for a reason, dammit. I also had to strip the duvet off my bed and find my real blankets before I could sleep. RIP my real pillow. The sole improvement I will concede is that they took the frosted glass bowl off my ceiling fan and put a paper lampshade on it, allowing it to fit a full size lightbulb.
So I have a busy day of furniture moving ahead of me, and then I must start transferring the bookshelf in load by load and unfuck it, then gotta find all my clothes, get my possessions from all around the house, unload my suitcases, oh my god they took down all my art and plastered over the nail holes, this is going to be such a chore. But hey, real room! Not a pit of rubble! Has my real actual bed in it, with legs attached and everything! It's not in the middle of a creepy forest! Life is looking up.
