No Entrance

How many times do I sit down to write something about my day(s) and start out with "man, it's been a crazy week"?
Like, woah.

I'm sure fully half my emails to AM start this way, and literally every time I look back and see that I think "Well, it was maybe a bit of hyperbole there, but *this*  week truly was crazy."

Anyhoo, I'm slowly catching up on the sleep debt I've been whole-heartedly incurring from the beginning of the week.

Finished moving the very last of my crap from my apartment to my car on late Sat/early Sun. Have yet to successfully move more than five things since from the car to the apartment.
So, yes, I've been driving to and from work everyday with a ton of realllly random crap in the car and a lamp jabbing me in the shoulder when I brake.
Moved the lamp out tonight. But still nothing else. lawl.

Yesterday, (that means Mon/Tues to you normal folk as today is Tues/Wed. In my world, it is not tomorrow until I've slept and woken up) some anonymous ass-shat at work stole my lunch.
Yes, that's right, stole. my. fucking. lunch! Waaaah waaaah waaaah.
It somehow feels even worse because of the timing of it.
What I mean is, my shift is the first night shift to have lunch. This means that whatever jerkwad STOLE MY LUNCH had to have either done it on their way out of the building to go home or took it on our first break to have as a "snack".

I was so shocked that my delicious, delicious turkey sandwich wasn't just where I had left it, that I literally left only to return and check again if maybe it wasn't just hiding somewhere, about 4/5 times.

le sigh.

I've also been randomly getting injured a lot recently. I am a mass of minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises. None of which are serious business or anything, but all of which twinge me regularly throughout the day.

Work has been going fine. I've been getting lots of compliments lately for how well prep is running. (Thank god, as this means they're even less likely to try and move me out of there.)

Found out a ridiculous amount of people applied for the trainer position (more than 50 was the closest to an actual number I got) and many from the other buildings as well. I've heard that they might be giving us all a survey to fill out to narrow down the potential candidates further before scheduling interviews.
We'll see what happens with that.

Turned in my keys to my old place, so I can never return there again. Thus the title of my post.
Because, no matter how little time I spent there in the runup to the end of my lease, and no matter how little fondness I held for the place by the end, and no matter how much more ridiculously awesome in every single measurable and unmeasurable way my new place is...yes, despite all that, as soon as the keys thumped on the desk in front of the office manager, I wanted very much to just go back to my apartment and spend some time there. Just to be doubly, triply, quadrupedally, quintupally, etc sure that I hadn't left anything there and I really was sick of cleaning.
It's that whole, leaving a hotel room thing. I've always been that way. Triple checking the bathroom drawers, under the bed, etc., leaving into the hall, then stopping in a moment of panic to rush back in and check, just that one more time. And there's always a feeling of loss or loathe to part with-ed-ness to give back that key.

Whatever. End of an era. Beginning of a new and (pray God or whatever passes) continually improved one.