This week is quick and painless, since I skipped Monday and half of Tuesday and won't have class on Friday. I wish I could say I've spent all my free time doing something productive but I really haven't. Since Matt's been gone I've felt strangely... quiet. I've been hanging out with my friends as much as usual, if not moreso, but I feel like I'm not saying anything. That's not the best way to describe it but I can't find a more accurate way. Or actually, maybe I can: I guess I feel like something's missing. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Matt and I are moving in together at the end of the summer-- I'm moving into his place and renting mine out. We've been planning it for a while now and we're both pretty excited. Ironically, now that Dan, my roommate of two years and I are parting ways in a few months, we've been getting along even better than usual. We were unexpectedly united by our mutual love of Abby, previously mentioned (and rightly so) as the best cat in the world, and who we have unofficially adopted despite her belonging to our next-door neighbor. I've let her sleep on my bed on several nights, and I've caught Dan, who claims not to like cats, leaving dishes of tuna out on the porch for her. For her part, she seems to be as content sniffing around our place as she is anywhere else. Abby is the perfect cat in every way except one: she farts. She farts bad. She uses some sort of cuteness-powered nuclear ass fission to produce one the foulest stenches I've ever smelled. It hangs in the air at the scene of the crime for a good hour or so unless a fan is turned on, and she seems to emit these little treasures on a near-constant basis. Whatever it is in her diet that produces this smell, it should be outlawed as a crime against humanity.