When Neal moved out a few months ago, he left quickly, for a job he had to start soon. Too quickly to get a place in Columbus or anything, but fortunately, his mom has a condo there with a downstairs room, but no space for 1/2 an apartment worth of crap.

So he just split, leaving pretty much everything. We decide he would continue to pay rent down here for 3 more months, so I wouldn't be suddenly stuck with a double payment. In the meantime, my best buddy Shawn was living with her parents, and itching to get out. So she came to stay with me, with the understanding that she wouldn't have her own room yet, because our office (2nd bedroom) is still full of Neal's giant wooden desk, and mountains of computer equipment with its guts hanging out. Shawn's been sleeping on the futon in the living room and storing her clothes in a suitcase and bookshelf in the corner of the office. She also has half a closet there.

Now, Shawn was supposed to have her own room and begin paying rent last month. But Neal still hasn't made it down here to get his stuff out, so we're in a weird situation - she's still on the futon, but she's started paying rent... and moving some things in.

So now, we have a giant dresser with a GIANT mirror sitting in the living room, because if Shawn wanted it - and she did - she needed to take it right away. Her mom and mom's boyfriend came over to move it in. We started by transporting the big mirror. Shawn and her mom were carrying it between them, with me between them. Right before we got to the front door, the mirror caught the sun, and ricocheted the beams directly into my retinas.

"AAAAUGH!"

"Sorry, Jamie!"

"Jeez. You just about fried me like an ant."

Things are getting tight in that place. I keep wanting to do a major clutter cleanout, and organize a long-overdue paper-filing system, but it's really difficult when 1/3 of the crap is stuff that isn't yours, so you can't throw it away. It's that much harder when you have to wade through that stuff, so we're putting it off.

Now, this is all going to change soon, because Neal arrives next Friday night to move his stuff out.

But Shawn's getting itchy.

I came home for lunch earlier this week, and she met me at the front door, with a guilty look on her face.

"Don't freak out."

"Shawn. What the hell did you do?"

"Just promise you won't freak out."

"You're scaring me."

"Promise!"

"All right, all right."

Every single piece of furniture, in the entire apartment, was moved.

I don't know why she was so worried about me, though. She and I have discussed this before - nothing bothers me. I'm laid back to a fault. So I just stood to the side, ate my sandwich, and watched her shove things around. When it was time to work on the post-lunch crossword puzzle, I actually sat on a couch WHILE she was shoving it around.

No big.

When I left, she was drilling holes in the back of the bookshelves her grandmother had just given us.

Now, here's why I don't freak out about things.

When I came home, everything looked great. I liked how she'd arranged things, I loved the bookshelf as an entertainment center. It was perfect, in fact. The arrangement was a little crowded with the dresser where it was, but that will only last a week.

The other thing going on in my apartment is the new futon mattress. Unfortunately, at the beginning last week's vomit marathon, also known as "Shawn and Jamie Get Food Poisoning And Almost Barf Up Their Colons," Shawn threw up on our original one. The resulting odor caused me to dub the place "The Palace Of Puke," and I wanted to just torch the mattress. The smell was unbearable.

Shawn tried cleaning, bleaching, and airing, and then yesterday, she had a new one delivered.

When the delivery guy arrived, he actually stood in the living room, looked around, and asked, "Where do you want it?"

Shawn and I both stared at him for a moment, then silently pointed to the empty futon frame that would have been biting him in the ass if futons bit.

I spent Thursday night breaking it in, though. Comfy.