I moved. On Saturday. I’m tired. Very tired. Thinking and writing in more than two-word sentence fragments makes me tired. So tired. Also, sore. Erin’s sore. Sorry, Erin. Yeah. We’re tired.
I am cleaning the old apartment. Suddenly it’s disgusting. How is it that a place can get filthier after you move all your stuff out? A week ago it was home; now it looks like junkies are squatting there. So tired. Must clean.
