This morning there was a pair of dirty boxers on the kitchen counter

Think about that for a bit.

I often tell my coworker here about my daily battles with the Man-Child and he's graciously extended an invitation to me to move into his basement on many occasions. Because he has three cats and felines make my face explode in hives and my eyes and nose explode in itchiness, though, I've had to decline.

Last week he suggested I move into the office. I'd have everything I needed there: a kitchenette, showers in the gym downstairs, a TV and computer, ample space to store my things because of all the layoffs/ buyouts... The only I was missing was a place to rest my head. The most viable option was under my desk, a quite spacious space, really. I would just need some blankets and pillows to make my nest and I'd be set.

During our office holiday party on Friday, several now-empty offices were opened up to house the nosh. In the dessert room we discovered a couch. As soon as I can figure out a way to schlep all my worldly possessions there on the Metro, I'm moving in.