Moving hurts.

I have just now woken up from a two-day-long series of intense napping and insomnia caused by Alison’s crash-move Monday.

Now, I’m a champion procrastinator myself, but I think I would have to beat myself (more) senseless if I’d done what Alison did here. She was supposed to be out at the end of February. Apparently what happened here is that her landlady really likes her mother and wanted to keep Alison on as a resident and was giving Alison an unreasonable amount of slack in getting her paperwork straightened out and getting herself moved over. In the meantime, Alison was being hard to contact for anyone but me. Sleeping through the day, not answering the phone, not answering the door, etc.

And, of course, she wasn’t calling her landlady. So neither Alison nor I had any idea what was going on until last week, and while I kept telling Alison to get her stuff ready to move…she didn’t.

This weekend, we finally got things more or less sorted out, but it took until Monday to actually get the key, which left us until tuesday morning to move.

Gerald and I finally got the last stuff out of Alison’s “Room of Doom” (the sealed room full of smoke-damaged stuff her mother had “helpfully” brought over when she moved in) around 8am.

Shortly after, she discovered her upwind neighbor apparently smokes. Good god, it never ends, does it? And I still have to rent a storage unit to put that stuff in.

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