I'm tired I'm -

(my building. my apartment is the one right in the middle, on the second floor, with the special arched window)

It's three thirty. I have one silly page to write before I can sleep. Just one silly page and I can't seem to push it out. I hung out with a friend and her daughter and son tonight. They are nocturnal. They left just over an hour ago. They managed to tire me out.

In other, more history making news, my apartment is almost clean. Sweet glorious yes.
My livingroom-type-area (hey it's a loft, so there aren't exactly rooms per se) ... It's totally put together.
My dishes, (my shame!) are nearly eradicated.
My kitchen table is free of debris.
I can see my floor.
I swept.

My friend reworked my cupboards. My cupboards I say!

My cloffice (the closet/office) is still a disaster. I spend a lot of time in this closet. (har har)
It shows. There are three empty jugs of chocolate soymilk on the floor. Three. fucksakes.

My bedroom is also still a mess. But that's just means I need to consolidate dirty clothes and make the bed.

I also need to scrub the bathroom and finish the dishes (my shame!)

And then, oh then my living space will be clean. And that will be a glad day, considering that I will be holed up in this here apartment for the next week. Five essays kiddios. Five. fucksakes!

Okay. To my one silly page.