Therapy (different kinds)

"Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life." Bill Cunningham

Breathe...breathe..breathe...

Oh, hi! I'm just sitting here reliving the time spent yesterday helping Corb's mom prepare the apartment for her 44-year old boyson that apparently has become our responsibility, too. 

We were at the apartment for two hours--and if it had been up to Corb's mother, we would have been there for twice that. That woman had five of us there ready to take on the horrors of a relatively nicely cleaned small four room apartment. We spent the entire time trying not to get in each others way.

Oh! It was VITALLY important that we get there to help out, because there was oh so much to do! For example, her car was just crammed with stuff that needed to be moved into the apartment. That is, if your idea of crammed consists of two chairs and some cleaning equipment. 

And! The apartment totally had SO much that needed work. For example, while we were there, she wanted us to:

--Add a privacy film over all the lower windows because the landlord allegedly wouldn't allow for curtains, and only had blinds that could be open and shut, meaning people might be able to look in to...what? Watch Greg microwave food naked? I dunno. We had to fight her to only put one in, in the bathroom. She wanted more.

--Cut up a car carpet rug so that it could be placed under the kitchen sink, because the bottom of the cabinet was uneven and...what? A rug would even it out? 

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