A friend of mine once referred to the apartment I'm living in now as a hovel. I was really, really offended. But then he revealed that he thought a hovel was a small apartment, not, like, living in squalor. If he'd been anyone else I would've thought it a truly pathetic attempt at backpedaling but he thought his vocabulary was much better than it actually was, so it was totally believable.

In my imagination, my hovel is sort of Dickensian Comfy.

Which is an oxymoron, but it's my fantasy.

If it's any consolation, I have a mental image of your place and it's rather swank.

As someone who has lived in a hovel, it's all what you make it. I could see you having a very quaint hovel, stacking all your books from floor to ceiling as sort of a wallpaper.

Hey, does thing remember personal info yet? ::ducking::

And the books would work as insulation in the winter, so it would all be good! :)

(It remembers me and Dail. I don't know why it hates you.)

Hey, you were the one who brought up hovels, I merely wanted some assurance that you aren't going to let this job make you crazy like the other one did.

Yeah, I know I'm the one who brought the hovel into it. :) But I'm blaming you anyhow.

Anyhow, it took the last place five or 6 years to really push me over the brink. I've only been at this place for six weeks.