Critical mass

I feel like the popular refrain of this blog will be “this is actually real,” but nevertheless, I’ll say it – this is actually real. I won’t overplay my hand here, either – I’m a little scared.

Yesterday Dad and I went through the pots and pans at his house, and I took two saucepans, a crepe pan, a big skillet, a bigger pot, and some IKEA silverware. Apparently the pot and saucepans belonged to my maternal great-grandmother, who lived in Nebraska along with all of the relatives in that family. I guess I’m returning them to their rightful locale. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled cookware yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming cupboard, send these, the stoveless, unseason’d to me, I light my burner beside the copper-bottomed pots and pans!” I’m sorry.

In other news, I officially have the apartment – security deposit cleared. I just cut a check for this month’s half-rent, and I do have to say that it hurt a bit. Since my work at the music store ended, I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there to keep developing something of a rent cushion, but the truth is I’m pretty much going to be living paycheck-to-paycheck. Not that I’m surprised by that; it’s just now a reality to me, staring me in the face.


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