This time tomorrow I will be shuffling through security at the airport, extremely nervously, anticipating the upcoming flight.

I can’t believe the time is here.

I will be flying over the atlantic.

I will be seeing still-standing, and in-use buildings from centuries ago.

Paintings and artworks going back a millennium.

I don’t think there’s preparation enough for this sort of trip.  I’ll just have to wing it and hope.

Oh, and my french is going to suck.

Earlier today, while I was wandering boisterously around the apartment, AmitheFriend dragged me back from the latter half of the apartment.

Curious, of course, I drag out of her the reason: You can’t go back there! Colin has a girl in his room!

Naturally, my circumspection for Colin knows no bounds. I was going to stop and quietly sit in my room, waiting for her exit, but pondered enough to ask the subsequent question, as I hadn’t seen *anyone* come through the door, nor Colin going out…

“What makes you sure there’s a girl back there?”

She points to the front entrance. Those shoes there!

They’re mine. Size 13 black skater-type monstrosities.

I asked Colin about it just now. Whether he’d go for someone who had shoes like mine. “Well… she might be hot!”

His huge feet have overtaken his resolve, then.

Two things have I apportioned myself on the highway to Happiness. Or at least the Meandering Path to Meh.

One. Finish staining/varnishing the butcher block table that I will be using as a fish tank stand.

Two. Strip the years of paint from the top of the mouldings in the dining room, thus to further my goal of re-wiring to the intermediate telephone plug in there, and thus to my room, that I may re-locate the DSL modem and router.

Congruence: I’m varnishing the top of the table in said dining room. Stripping can make a helluva mess (when was the last time you were at the bar?). Unless I’m going for the splattered retro 80’s look, this won’t work.

Of course, I *could* be smart, and strip fully before I varnish, but that’s no fun. Fun, it seems, is the measure by which all activities should be undertaken. Which really doesn’t explain my presence here, d-+++ATH+++NO CARRIER

Reasons why my roommate will be doing the dishes next:

The macaroni you made a few days ago, and then left, covered, in the pot on the counter?

It grew an afro.

A dirty gray-and-black afro. And I swear it spoke to me. It may just have been learning to modulate the currents of air through its fibrous nodules, but I swear it whispered, ‘…daddy!’ before I bashed its brains with a spoon and shoveled the rest into the trash.

Yeah.

Your turn.