the studio

Our apartment has a lot of things wrong with it; most significantly, that I am currently locked out of it.

I was on my way to basket weaving (yes, basket weaving), and had one of those inconvenient door-slams-behind-me-just-as-I-remember-I've-forgotten-my-keys moments, which fortunately, are rare. However, since the person who is supposed to be around to unlock it isn't, and Michael doesn't get off work for another hour, I'm here, at the Provo library.

I waited outside for a while, kind of hoping that one of my neighbors would find me and give me a ride. Sans keys, all I had on my person was my phone, an awl, a pocket knife, and, inexplicably, my library card. The stupid thing destroyed any hope of looking tough with my rather menacing basket weaving tools when Provo's unsavories saw my bright yellow library card, which features a frog reading a book. So I left, making use of my card by walking the block and a half to the library. Plus, my toes were turning purple.

And another thing! Here I am, skipping possibly the fifth class I've skipped in my college career (yes, I'm that lame), and it's not even on purpose. My phobia of missing the one day of class that tells the secret of getting an A is very much kicking in, and I have to keep saying to myself "basket weaving. It's only basket weaving."

I mentioned that there's a lot wrong with our apartment. I loved it when we first moved in--it's remote, yet close to campus, it's lofty and adorable, and it is small, which by definition makes it cute. And I still love it.

But I'd love it a whole lot more if the sink(s) didn't leak. And if the toilet worked consistently. And if the living room fan would turn on without triggering the living room light.

And if I weren't locked out of it.