La Vida Hobo

Ever since about a week before Christmas I have been living at Ray's place, and for months and months before then I've spent all my weekends at his place. So while our living together was inevitable and we've been warming up to it for quite a while, the reality is my apartment has suffered.

In times past, when I didn't have a steady to do things with all weekend, I would get up Saturday morning, eat breakfast, read and then do chores until my apartment was not disgusting. Or if I was gone Saturday, I'd do them Sunday. Or perhaps I'd split them between all the dishes, cooking and straightening on Saturday and the mopping and scrubbing on Sunday with laundry at night, so I could fold clothes while watching Sunday night TV. What I'm saying is I had a routine, and there was only so awful a week's worth of mess could be. (Why isn't Ray's house a shambles considering we are spending weekends together? you ask — Ray has cleaners come in, a practice he considered suspending for our shacking, but which we have decided is probably worth the money for the sake of our relationship. Ray is also a neatnik who would never let a pot sit in the sink for more than a few hours. He just can't do it. It is against his constitution, which is highly teutonic.)

Well, that routine has been shot for a long time now, and my apartment is completely embarrassing to look at. It is like I've been camping there, but without the "leave no trace" ethos. It is a wreck, to speak plainly.

But since I'm moving, that wreck will have to come piece by piece to Ray's house. And hopefully be reconstructed here in such a way that it is clean and neat.

I've already been lugging my stuff over by bits and pieces. But today, Ray wanted to use his wagon to load stuff up more fully, and that means his coming over to start loading my stuff. Which he did, and although it looks like a hobo encampment sans hobos because they had to scramble in the middle of the night because the cops were going to raid them, he was fine.

I also turned in my official letter of resignation from the apartment. I will miss the water pressure there, but I'm sure the company, the central air and the dishwasher here will more than make up for it. Living with Ray may not be to everyone's taste, but living with a dishwasher is heaven, people. And according to multiple sources dishwashers are greener than handwashing.

Soon the hobo times will be over, and I'll become a Harbor yuppie once again.