Here we are, then. The end of June. I moved out of my home, the penthouse apartment above the exploding mattress shop, on 24 March, meaning I’ve now been Of No Fixed Abode for over three months.
Packing is tricky when you don’t know how long you’re packing for. Thankfully, some of the decisions I took when I moved out were good ones. I didn’t bring my coat, for example. It would have used up space and it wasn’t cold for long after I left. I brought what felt like too many books, but in hindsight was enough to keep me going even now.
Other things I could have done with more of, but there wasn’t much room. The same three work shirts in rotation are feeling a bit dull now. The same ten pairs of socks are getting pretty worn. I wish I’d packed at least one more pair of jeans.
Here’s the decision I regret the most, though. When I picked up some treasured sentimental objects, I chose a photograph of my sisters and my Pouring Beans 2020 Calendar. Then I looked at the envelope containing the calendar pages for July to December and I thought… no, surely not. I’ll be back before July. July is forever away.
Now my calendar is running out, and while you will simply turn the page tomorrow morning, I will have nothing. Nothing but regret, and a need to look at my phone to see what day it is.
16 comments on “Bad planning”
Call me a crazy radical… but could you not go back to the explosive penthouse and pick up some more/fresh supplies? Surely Steve Steveingtons wouldn’t cough on you too much? Or has he now mutated into a huge Caronie-Beast?
I’ve lasted this long without caving in. I’m not doing it now.
(I’m seeing Steve at a safe social distance in the next week so I’ll only miss a few days of calendar action. Everything’s fine.)
Seeing Steve from a social distance is the only safe way to see Steve Steveingtons. Get too close and he’ll wreck your elbows.
He’ll wreck your emblows. My emblows are safe. It’s just you that he has violent tendencies towards.
Look at me. What is it with me? All I ever did was nice things for him. I left him those bags of sugar in his bed; what more does he want?
You did all that, and you sent him a terrible film on DVD. It’s a mystery why his number one aim in life is to give you a thick ear.
Did I? I don’t remember sending him a terrible film on DVD. Are you sure it wasn’t that person who also keeps sending your awful CDs in the post?
I don’t know who did that but I’m pretty sure that, having had a long conversation with Steve about “Clockstoppers”, directed by Starfleet Commander Will Riker, it was you that then sent him that same film on DVD about a week later.
… nah, a sheer coincidence, like coming across an elephant in your banana milkshake. You can’t pin everything on me because theoretically it makes sense.
Oh, can’t I? I think you’ll find I’m pinning this incident directly on you, along with a badge that says “it was definitely me”. The pins are going to leave holes in your jumper and I’m not even sorry.
What? You can’t blame me for the release of the Bovona virus and the fact that you had to go live in a drinks cabinet and harass horses every day for three, no, four months solid. That is all on you, sonny Jim.
I… don’t remember trying to blame you for that. But I find the way that you’ve suddenly mentioned it very suspicious, and you can now consider yourself very much blamed. I’m looking at my watch and it’s blame o’clock. You’re so covered in blame now that I’m starting to lose sight of you under all the blame.
Would you… just… come on now, I didn’t need all of this blame. Wait, what’s this? Tapgate from 2015? I’m not taking the blame for Kev’s shoddy tap adventures. Who keeps throwing this blame down here on me?
Nobody asked you about Tap Saga and yet here you are, suspiciously protesting your innocence. I’m feeling another big blame coming on.
I chucked that one in, thought I’d sneak it in there, but he saw it. I was going to add “turning old beans into a Zorse forum” too. How’d you like them blame-apples? (blapples?)
He’s beyond the point of liking or disliking those blapples. He’s inundated with them. They’re coming in faster than he can deal with them. He’s in the midst of a hurriblame
That didn’t quite work, but anyway, the point is, there’s a lot of blame here.