You wont believe this, but it's true. My roommate found an apartment. I should have mentioned that he was in New York at all, but it has been a crazy couple of weeks, though I suspect its about to get a whole lot worse.
Michael found an apartment.
He found it.
It has been found.
There should be time made to revel in this excitement, but my messed up brain goes, "What about your car? You will never sell it," and "Where exactly is the money coming from for the security deposit?" Worry trumps excitement. So lets pause a minute and be excited.
It is in THE perfect area. Right between Prospect Park and the Greenwood Cemetary. My new joke is that Leonard Bernstein is my neighbor. My comic genius knows no bounds. The apartment seems perfect. The excitement is being bottled up to explode somewhere in Texas I am sure.
Also I got an IPhone. No, I cannot afford it. Yes. I feel guilty. Leave me alone. It is hardly a dent in the exorbitant amount of money that is about to fly out of my checking and credit accounts like bats.
Oh. And it is awesome.