Yes, I moved. Yes, I am alive. The hideous, throbbing pain in my strained back and broken toe testify to this.

All I can say is that, when moving day comes and one suddenly realizes that one has forgotten to both pack one’s possessions and hire movers, than one is in deep doo doo. Luckily, I have a wonderful boyfriend who spent two sweltering days helping me haul all of my possessions up five narrow flights of stairs. And I did eventually develop the presence of mind to hire two strong men to carry the heaviest pieces of furniture up on the third day.

All that is left to do is make the apartment my own and purify it of any lingering karma from the previous occupants. To this end, Rob gave me some sage to burn, and Joe recommended I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the space as soon as possible.

I have done neither of these as of yet, preferring to expend my energy on finding a couch. My current plan is to stick a net out the window and see if I can snag one that is flying past.

I hope it’s leather.