Moving Time

I’m feeling much better today. The roommate situation is causing me very little stress now the message has been delivered and his search for a new place has kicked into high gear. He’s a nice guy but I need my space. Actually The Slackmistress and I need our space because in seven short days she is moving in. She started bringing things over last night after I cleared out a lot of the junk I have accumulated over the years. I have been amazed at the things I have found like boxes I hadn’t unpacked since I moved to Los Angeles nearly 8 years ago and a collection of cards made for me by my second grade class while I was out having surgery. In addition there were a lot of odds and ends left behind by other people, I’m pretty sure that they won’t be coming back for them so they have also been discarded. I hope no one is going through my trash.

It’s been over six years since I have lived with a girl, not counting the girl who I lived with for six days (under a week does not count) and in that time I’ve lived like a typical single guy. So I’ve got one more week to eat cereal and cookies for dinner and to not do the dishes. These are sacrifices I can make because they are really the only changes I’ll have to make. The best part of this thing that the Slack and I have is that I am able to be exactly who I am; robots, bad poker playing, trashy rock and all the other stuff that comes with me. I figure the least I can do is eat right and keep the kitchen clean.

I’ll probably also have to stop organizing my things like in piles this:

I’ll have to keep things organized like my time warp magazine rack.

I’ve mentioned it before but in case you missed it, the best part of living in an old pre war building is that we frequently get mail from the 1950’s courtesy of an old icebox that a previous tennant converted into a time machine. He built it in the 1950’s in order to get the answers to the Sunday crossword puzzles. After setting the machine one week ahead he’d jump in, get the answers and then run out really fast in case his clothes had gone out of style during the week that hadn’t passed yet. Everything was going well until one day the machine malfunctioned, he jumped in but was never able to get back and the machine has been stuck at the same point in time ever since, a newstand in the 1950’s. He has spent the years since sending magazines to my house with notes inside them asking questions about the future. From time to time I’ll drop notes back with glimpses of today, he’s pretty impressed with it all but he keeps asking if we live underwater yet. I just tell him that we’re working on it and I’ll get back to him as soon as I know more.


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