We cleaned the old place last night. I, of course, had a violent sneezing fit. My chest still hurts, ugh. But no more!

Everything is in the new place! In boxes. Set upon the dusty floor and dusty counters. Ugh.

Neal and I decided we're going to be very irresponsible. (You: "What? You? NO!") We're going to not pack or unpack for the next 2 nights. We're on strike. Oh, I'll have to pack suitcases to go home, but that's it. We're just not doing it. We'll live by our wits, without dishes in the cupboard or pictures on the wall or knickknacks on the shelves or clothes in the dresser drawers. (Actually, there's dishes in the dresser drawers right now. I'm a creative packer.) Tonight, we buy and decorate a Christmas tree. Neal had the idea to get really drunk, too, but then he remembered we have to work tomorrow. So we'll just get a little drunk. I might wrap a few gifts. (Yes, I finally bought gifts. Some gifts. We're nowhere near finished.)

Tomorrow, I pack, and we goof off more. I can't wait to NOT lift boxes, NOT tape stuff together, NOT unscrew things, NOT wrap dishes. Oh, God, it sounds good.

Anyway, we took our last shower in the old place last night. We started talking about our first few nights in that house.

Before I tell you that story, let me describe the place so you can follow along. Picture a smallish wooden box. Cut it in half. On the right is the living room, on the left is the bedroom. Tag a porch on the front, plus a kitchen and bathroom on the back, and you have Neal's and my old house. It's amazing we didn't kill each other. We certianly stepped on each other, tripped over each other, and ran into each other enough. I, right this second, have various bruises on my body that could each be matched exactly in size, shape, and location to a jutting bit of furniture in that house.

Understatement Alert: Our time there got off to a rocky start.

We drove from Ohio to Florida for 3 days and 2 nights. We knew we'd arrive Friday evening, and I was to start work at my brand new job Monday.

Granted, we should have shown maybe a little more foresight in setting up utilities, but in Ohio, where we were moving from, this wouldn't have been a big deal. Silly, niave us called the electric and water companies from a Denny's payphone in North Florida Friday afternoon to get the water and electricity turned on. Um, not happening. We didn't know about the migrant factor.

Apparently, this area gets a lot of migrant workers, people who roam from job to job, and place to place. Therefore, landlords and utility people and everyone else are VERY STRICT about deposits and petty things like that. They weren't going to turn on our water or our electricity. Nope. Not unless were were there with a hefty check and our signatures on a bunch of papers promising we wouldn't jump town and cost this poor, impoverished, struggling utility company $30. Oh, and they closed in 2 hours. We were about 9 hours away.

We were fucked.

Now, as Neal and I began assessing the situation, we realized we'd be OK, except for the fact that I was expected at work 7 a.m. Monday. Otherwise, it'd be gross, but do-able.

We could stay in a hotel all weekend, but... our financial situation was bleak. We'd already borrowed money to cover the move down. Hotels are expensive during peak season in Florida. We couldn't afford the $200 for ONE night, let alone an entire weekend.

So what did we do?

We kicked it colonial-style.

We unpacked our considerable supply of candles. We bought several dozen more. We became experts at setting up those candles in front of mirrors and computer screens, to increase the amount of light shining into the room. We unpacked the truck frantically during the day, and the best we could during the night.

And then it was shower time. Cause if I was going to half-ass wash Monday morning, I had to maintain a certain degree of scum-removal upkeep. Remember, we were unpacking, cleaning, lifting, sweating. Ah, the smells at the end of the day. (I'm turning you on, aren't I? Just keep reading for more, baby.)

So I get naked, stand in the tub, and brace myself. Cause we'd bought several gallon jugs of water, and there was no electricity to heat it. Keep in mind, although we were in Florida, it was February. So about 70 degrees out, and after sunset. Brisk.

I'll spare you the whiny details. Let's just say my goosebumps were the size of golfballs, and it was not the most fun bathing experience of my life. It was not a spa. It was freezing water torture. I may have cried. I don't know.

All I knew, I wasn't doing that shit again Saturday night.

So we kicked it colonial-style, double check.

What's that mean? Well, we rigged up various devices to heat the water over candle flames. I shit you not. And you may laugh, but nothing in the world felt better than that warm water.

And that's how I got ready for work the next day, too. I don't think anyone could tell. There weren't any gifts of Teen Spirit perched on my desk the next day, so I think it was cool.

Last night, during our last shower in our first house together, Neal and I talked about that, and other stuff. Believe it or not, I'm going to miss that Lincoln Log cabin. That tiny house of clutter and dust. That teensy wooden box we called home for almost a year.

Because Neal and I had some great times in that house. We learned how to live together. We laughed till we couldn't breathe, and cried until we felt sick. We occasionally fought so badly, sometimes I was unsure about what would happen next. We cooked together and ate together and got drunk together and watched videos and adopted a cat and slept in and showered and almost anything else you could think of for two people to do together - Neal and I did it in that small space. We fell in love just a little more within the walls of that home. And I am going to miss it.

But all the Pixie Stix in the world aren't enough to get me to live there ever again. No freaking way.