Last night was our first night here in the new place. All of M.’s stuff is gone from his old place, and the movers are supposed to be here any time now with my stuff.

It kind of felt more like a sleep over than a final act last night. I can’t shake the interloper in a stranger’s house feeling. Col0r me Goldilocks, and I guess bears being all over Cali and in the state seal and all, it works.

I’ve been so busy with truly mundane, I ain’t hardly written shit. Of course, one could ask why or how have I possibly have found the mundane line about which I won’t write here. Is lining shelves and drawers really any more pathetically boring than the rest of Dee-Rob minutia?

Here goes, though, and let me know if belly button lint and toenail clipping are next in the scintillating prose arena.

I am fucking obsessed with shelf lining. Every time I have ever moved into a place, I’ve washed everything, floors, walls, shelves, light switches, porcelain fixtures, really everything with a surface. I’ve scrubbed and chucked bleach around to a fare-the-well. Then, in closets and cabinets and drawers, I’ve lined everything with Contact paper (the duct tape of the colored paper world).

(By the way, any one who knows what a complete and total slob I am is probably shocked I do all of that cleaning. But, I get all obsessive compulsive about what someone may have left behind, dirty-wise.)

But this fucking place has so much storage room, the lining has taken on global proportions.

I hear a truck out front…