The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said…

8:30 am. Sitting in Lauren and Doug’s studio apartment in Astoria while Emmy snoozes somewhere, probably under Lauren’s bed. Lauren also, incidentally, is still snoozing. Can’t say that I blame her. The woman needs the sleep. If I had it my way, I’d be sleeping too, but I’m just too amped up. Exhausted, yes, but amped.

Yesterday was stressful, to say the least. I’d gone out the night before with Lindsay first to SPiN for a book launch party for Are All Guys Assholes by Amber Madison, then to Birreria, a new(ish) rooftop beer garden by Mario Batalli & co. on top of his Italian market-meets-restaurants Eataly at 23rd and Fifth. It was a typical night out with us–too much beer and wine, and flirting with attractive men. After dozing in and out of sleep in the cab on the ride home, I collapsed onto my deflated air mattress and slept like death until the last possible minute before I had to leave the apartment again. So the morning was hectic–first I’d had to grab a car service back to Spanish Harlem to take Emmy for one last vet check-up before the move. The vet was an hour behind schedule thanks to several incompetent dog owners in a row, and then we chatted about Emmy, Alaska, and the doc’s new baby. After having to watch Emmy Cat scream, cry, and hiss her way through having her blood drawn, I found I was late to my noon appointment with the human doctor, which was all the way back downtown. So back into another car service and this time to Gramercy. (Taking the cat to my doctor? A whole other weirdness.) After that, it was on to Home Depot, and then back into yet another cab to take the cat home and finish up.

But finishing wasn’t going to be easy. The apartment was still a disaster. In the end, I decided I couldn’t cancel my yoga date with Lauren–I was far too stressed–and so headed to Astor Place for my last session at Yoga to the People. It made a world of difference. Two weeks of hauling and stair-running had made me stronger, so I could focus ever more on breathing and stretching.

Then it was back to the chaos. Lauren and I ate sushi on the train (mine imitation crab), followed by a grueling final push to sort and clean the rest of the apartment. An hour later, we were done. Then it started raining. No, pouring. And we still had to load the car with the massive amounts of stuff. A lot of stuff. Lauren took some things from my apartment for herself and is shipping some of the other things to me. On top of that, there’s my suitcase, a duffle bag big enough for a human body or two, a regular-sized duffle, a cat, and a backpack…  I’m exhausted just thinking about it all over again. We got lucky, though. Our driver had a great sense of humor and sung along to “Summer Lovin’” from “Grease” with us on the way to Astoria. But before we could hit the BQE, we had to stop at the building of the girl who’s moving into my apartment so I could give her the keys. As I was about to turn away from her, she started laughing: we were both wearing the exact same outfit–black leggings, dark grey tee, and flip flops. Must be the Moving Out uniform.

So, here I am. Saturday morning, stretched out on the couch in Lauren and Doug’s basement studio in Astoria, Emmy still nowhere in sight and Lauren still snoozing… I’m starving, actually. Maybe I should go forage in the kitchen… Lauren stirs! Coffee time? Yes. Yes, it’s 9:00am. Emmy gets her sedative in an hour. And it’s coffee time.

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