Two more weeks until a bedroom…

I can feel it. The cardboard boxes around me can feel it. The cat feels it. The cycling air conditioner feels it. My toothpaste can feel it. My dwindling supply of q-tips can feel it.

With every sigh and “whoops, excuse me” between roommates, I can feel it—the still, quiet voice sounding the coming of the move. Soon, there will be space for all. There will be racks for the towels. Shirts will reside in closets and on hangers. Boxes will give way to shelves and couches, lamps and cushions. There will be a dining room table. There will be a path through the rooms. The cat will frolic amid a purified Feng Shui. The tension between personal space will be resolved.

In two weeks we move! Down four floors to a larger space. Sure, there will be trips and loads to move; but it will be by the sweat of our brows that will bring us victory. Soon, I will change not among stoves and cutlery, but in the midst of my bed and closet. Soon, I will be a resident, a tenant, a man!

Dum dum duuuuum. Ba bub bub ba bub ba baaaaaaa. Dee de de deeee. Der der deeeeeer da da da deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer.

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