When I’m nervous or anxious and I’m trying to avoid eating to satiate this tension, I usually end up cleaning.
This is how, once I got the super of my building to pry it open (we lost the key to the lock), I spent this evening cleaning out the storage unit. I found several boxes from tenants who moved out about a year and a half ago, and several boxes from other various occupants.
Cleaning a storage unit is a bit like playing an elaborate game of Tetris: You have to have good spatial relations skills to be able to figure out what will fit in the foot-wide space next to your enormous stack of say, seven boxes of unsold copies of your album.
You also have to make sure to leave a way to get to the back of the unit in case someone needs something. This was the main problem prior to the cleaning: Everything was just sort of thrown in there and there was no way to get at anything in the back.
Now all you have to do is move my amplifier (conveniently on wheels) and drag my stereo box full of baseball cards and make sure my garbage bag full of stuffed animals from my childhood doesn’t fall on your head, and voilá!, you have your access.
I’m still going through my room, mostly because I’ve been getting up too late to be able to run the vacuum (we have some really bitchy neighbors) and I just got the dustbuster back a couple days ago from Adam’s friend who borrowed it a couple months ago.
I still haven’t hit the living room, though that’s a simple enough chore to do in about an hour tomorrow, since all I have to do is move all the furniture around and vacuum. Jesus, I’m turning into a 1950’s housewife…
I’m losing my mind and tearing out my hair waiting to hear back from the Braves, but at least my apartment will be sparkling!