ENOUGH. We're now going to look for a house. No more living in a stupid apartment.

Another day, another fire alarm. This time it wasn't at 3 a.m. like usual. Nope. 6. Yes. 6 a.m. As in "Erin wakes up at 7:30 a.m., and therefore is in that blissful homestretch of sleep ..."

Insert the alarm.

Good news is I am confident I won't ever sleep through it should it ever be a real fire. Which it wasn't. Again. We made it out our door, to the stairs, when the alarm went off. Instead of going back to sleep, I thought I'd take a shower, but then it went off again, so I in my jeans and pajamas and Dave in his flip-flops carry our most valuable possessions (though a few less than the last time, because we're getting lazier). Then it goes off again, and we can hear our building manager yell "Go back to bed, it's just the (redacted) equipment room."

So this time I really just took a shower and went to work. It was about 7:30 a.m. when I got there, and it was nice. All quiet, no phones ringing, no one there. No e-mails. Not "nice" as in "I'm going to come in at 7:30 every day!" But it wasn't so bad. Well, except I wanted to die because I was so tired, but that's because ...

We stayed up pretty late (on a school night!) watching "The Hours." Not one of those movies that lifts the spirit. More like crushes it (or walks it into the river with stones in its pockets, as in Virginia Wolf's case).