With one month to go til move time, the task of getting the apartment back to it’s empty, boring, white, original self has started. Yesterday Billy and a friend of ours took everything out of the bedroom, tore down our precious wood wall, and painted over my beloved marigold. It took hours and hours even though the bedroom barely fits just a full size bed. Last night we were laying around in our bed, parked in the living room (we swapped the rooms so the bedroom could be the packing headquarters…here’s what it used to look like so you know what I mean) and we surveyed the endless amount of work left to do. Then Billy asked me, “Have you started thinking about the new apartment…you know, colors?” And even though I knew it was strange question for him to ask, I started listing off possible ideas (like, you know, dark grey?) before he interupted me, with jazz hands, and said, “because I was thinking WHITE. ALL WHITE! DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE A GREAT IDEA?!” I frowned, my dark grey walls dream crushed. But then today I had to go buy more supplies at Home Depot, and while lugging back gallons of paint down 23rd st, screaming at tourists to move in rows of two or less instead of six in the privacy of my head, I thought, “white. white. white. white….” Yeah, maybe white isn’t such a bad idea.