New Perspective

For those keeping track, my condo search is still in progress -- I don't have firm news to report on that front.

But I have noticed that once you decide you're moving, everything about your current residence changes. The clock is ticking, you're not going to be in this place much longer. And though you've lived there for however-long-it's-been, the things that never really bothered you start to eat at you.

My current apartment is pretty close to a major road in Denver. For three years, I haven't really noticed the traffic noise -- not since the first week or two I've lived here. But now? I can't not notice it. I've been there in bed for an extra hour every night, trying to fall asleep, suddenly hyper-aware of every car that goes by.

The refrigerator has been sort of on the fritz...ish, for a while. Oh, it still works fine, but every so often it starts to make this strange noise like an old coffee percolator or something. And now that's not so cute. And there's been the occasional new noise about once or twice a night.

I need to vacuum. Haven't done it in a couple weeks. But now the thought of doing it just seems ridiculous. I'll only be here another month. Just move the stuff out, then vacuum -- maybe -- one last time, before the landlord inspects it. Why waste another minute on it between now and then?

These sorts of feelings are probably why I found last night's new How I Met Your Mother episode so hilarious, with the plot line of Marshall and Lily's slanted apartment. Once you know it, everything changes.