Thursday, August 8, 2002. Entry #182

I turn 31 tomorrow.

I'm beginning to understand all those birthday cards and nonsense that talk about 'dreading the coming day' and such. Thirty-one. That's a lot of years.

I think it's about time I got my act together, don't you?

So we moved.

Sunday afternoon and night a squad of dedicated lunatics came by and shuttled quite nearly our entire apartment across the hall into the new place. It's amazing what you can get a group of good friends to do for you just by offering free pizza.

(Joel, Marco, Carmen, Connie, Colin: Thank you guys SO much!)

And already the apartment has proved itself. It's so quiet over there that I was awoken the first night by the sound of Peanut's wheel squeaking. The heat is gone, and there isn't a trace of vibration.

Much better.

And to top it off, we actually have a nice view. The central area of our complex is a wide-ish green space with a pretty community garden and gazebo. It's a huge step up from looking out at four lanes of traffic and a hotel.

I think I'm coming down with a cold. My nose is all stuffy, I have a headache and I'm a bit groggy. I'm sure the combination of moving and job stress and lack of sleep is catching up to me.

I can't afford to get sick. This weekend is ConVersion, for Pete's sake. Three days of Sci-Fi/Fantasy craziness! I can't miss that! (And I won't. I may be hopped up on decongestants, but I'll be there.)

Anyway, the grogginess is definitely coming out in my writing today. The spellchecker is in overdrive, and I'm not entirely certain how coherent this all will be.

Next week I'll post better. I promise.

So I'm sick. And tired. And old. What a lovely week.

One Year Ago Today: I was still on hiatus, but in 1815, Napoleon Bonaparte set sail for his exile on St. Helena.

Mom Rating: 4 out of 5. Mom thinks it's not good to be sick for your birthday.

Previous: Pet Round-Up

Next: In the Gap Between Here and There

Take me home, big fella