Naked pictures of our old apartment.

So, we moved last weekend. (Not yesterday. A week ago). Then, this week, we went back and cleaned and everything, and then back again to turn in the keys, and now we don't live there anymore. It's all very surreal, because so much of Life happened there.

This is how it feels right now:



</waxingsentimental>

As with any trying experience, we discovered that we'd learned some things afterward. Here are the ones you care about:

• We own a surprising amount of stuff. Most of it seems to have been hewn from boulders. I'm fairly certain the Colossus of Rhodes was in there somewhere. Also, Maine.
• I think I may have grown several new muscles. I didn't actually become any stronger from it; I just developed more places that could hurt. I'm pretty sure that, when this happened, I was supposed to get wings or claws or telekinesis. Evolution is an asshole.
• Despite weighing eight million pounds, U-Hauls are unnaturally fragile. If you even look at the same spot for more than four seconds, you'll scratch the paint off. Ten and the whole fucking thing will explode. They're like the TIE fighters of moving trucks. Except they have the turning radius of a small planet.

As I've said several times before, we are never moving again. Except we don't plan on living in Texas forever, which means that, barring some wicked map-altering earthquake that noone could possible survive anyway, we'll have to. When that does happen, we're not fucking around with Planet U-Haul. We're hiring Superman, The Thing, and Dr. Bruce Banner. And Bruce doesn't get any pizza.

This is where we used to live.