Southern California is Burning Again.
Yesterday someone replied to the Craigslist ad I put up regarding our old catboxes, (the cats have taken over the bunny-igloo litter-spaceship David brought over and will never give it back), and I replied, “Sure! Come on over.” while sending David a note, “were they bleached or were we overwhelmed by other things?” The message back, “overwhelmed.” So while I’m at work, feeling guilty for having David scrub the catboxes, as it was my chore to do, I decide to rectify matters I must fetch him delicious treats and chocolate while getting groceries on the way home.
(It’s fully dark by the time I leave work. The only benefit to this: Keith and I watch the result of the four p.m. sun set from our seventh floor office window as the tips of ordinary architecture are suddenly beautiful, bathed in melted girl-music gold, while everything at street level is already a heavy blue day-crunched dark.)
Fast-forward to arriving home. I stumble in, ready to drop, heavy with bags of vegetables and canned soup, and then I stop, stunned. The apartment I left in the morning is gone, replaced by an entirely new portion of space. Everything unsorted that was haunting our living space, (minus the bathroom and the bedroom, untidy disasters both), has been shifted into neat piles in the spare room library. There are no more boxes to step over. The floors are clear, flat surfaces have resurfaced, it’s a miracle. The apartment has been organized.
Summary: There is Not Enough Chocolate In The World.
