grrr. . . i’ve been very, recently rudely-awakened from my recuperative slumber by mr. furley. i know mr. furley means well. he did after all, save my car from the perp who was trying to steal my vintage fast-food bag collection. i know he means well. . . when he stops me in the hall with my hands full of veggie soup and bowling alley brochures to tell me about some mystery storage closet that i never use. it seems furley was alerted to my non-storage lockery use when he noticed it was empty. i don’t even want to think about why he knows it’s empty.

“it locks!” that’s his argument on why the storage locker should not be neglected. he didn’t want me to have to keep all my stuff (i.e. and i quote: “you don’t have to keep all your soap around if you don’t want to”) in the apartment. anyway. . . he’s knocking at the door at 11 a.m. of course i lay in bed for awhile and debate getting up and getting dressed and seeing who it is. the main motivating factor is that it could be a UPS man delivering early presents.

nope, it was just mr. furley giving me the key to the storage locker. rats! i think it’s time for my nap.