I finally hit up Wayfair for a desk to put into the space Diego created in the living room when he moved the couch while I was at work a few months ago. I confess that he was right about where the couch should go (because I now have a cute little desk corner and it's very peaceful when Arwen isn't lighting herself on fire), which makes it okay for me to also confess that even though I said I liked it when he first did it, his having rotated the couch ninety degrees actually made me very sweaty and disoriented.

I also confess that the only difference between this desk and my childhood desk is that I drink a lot of wine while sitting at this one. It's still filled with coloring books (mostly actual coloring books designed for children and fat crayons) and abandoned cross-stitch projects. And I can't actually light the candle, because of Arwen and her wayward rear end. So.

Have made zero discernible dents in the piles of books I purchased last year. Lindsay. God.

My upstairs neighbors were uncharacteristically quiet on Friday night and all day yesterday. While I was enjoying the quiet, my thoughts kept creeping toward the morbid. At one point while I was vacuuming, I realized that I was silently narrating my own true-crime podcast about what might have quieted them - F O R E V E R. When I was leaving last night, I walked backwards up the sidewalk until I got to the corner store (where hours earlier, the man there sold me black market beer because who cares about laws and licenses, NOT US), because I was watching their windows for signs of movement.

They're not dead, I hear them walking around up there now.
... at least ONE of them is walking around up there.

Linking up with Becky!