My sister and I moved to a new condo today.
My rockin' new house sits practically on the highest floor of the tower--far, far away from the leering construction men over at the Palazzo (which seems to be taking forever to finish). I can walk around naked. It's also a lot bigger--I can even dance around naked. There's a newly painted kitchen I can bless with splatters of oil while cooking porkchop. A nicely renovated bathroom with germ-free grout. Fresh-smelling cabinets that do not try to run after me, crying out for a shower of Lysol.
We also have new stuff for the new house -- a bum couch, a giant bean bag chair, a proper dining table (and I don't mean a kitchen table), a painting I stole from our house in Ayala, some deceitful flowers, a flatter TV. I'm also planning to piss off some hard-earned money with round-the-clock air-conditioning and cable.
After I finish fixing things up, I intend to have a lot of fun in this place. So much fun that I won't have time to say goodbye to the stupid dream that my old boyfriend will knock on my door one day. In the old condo he and I picked out together.