katie, the royals lost, and you are in minnesota where they are, but i am not, and that means we are apart. forevermore.

Well, Katie, I don't know how to tell you, but we've broken up. The day came, and neither one of us knew. I'm pretty sure you missed it completely since you've gone off to Minnesota with all of your belongings. But you are there, far away, just as we knew it would happen, and I am here, in my very own basement room at the place that used to be known as Juliet and Jeremy's but will now be known as Juliet and Jeremy's. Oh, yeah, and Amanda's.
It is a bit shocking--I did not intend to move the same day you left, but Juliet said, "Let's move you." And I said, "ok." (I'm very hard to convince, you see.)
Since my bed is now here, in my very own basement room, and no longer in our joint bedroom at Haverford West (yours is still there, alone, and very lonely, I might add. As well as being lonesome), we didn't even realize it was our last night in our apartment. I feel cheated. I feel denied. I feel jipped. And it must be remedied. I think we need to have a party. For a party is the only place where spirits can be revived, wrongs can be rightened, and drink treats can be enjoyed to their fullest. A date for this revelry, you ask? That could be a problem, considering, you are gone, and plan to be gone for quite some time. But I do have some musts for this gathering, and they are as such:

1. It must be in our apartment. (So, before the 1st of October).
2. It must include many people with whom we've shared this past year of our lives with and who have supported the Compounded, even in its irresponsible and repeated absences.
3. We will both sleep at the apartment for one final time.
4. Drink treats.
5. Spatulas. (You know what I mean, and if any of you don't, well, you'll soon know.)
6. I'm out of things to list, but I'm not quite done listing.
7. My mattress smells like smoke from our apartment, and it's never coming out. I blame all smokers everywhere. I do not hate you, but I do blame you, and for that, you should all feel very, very responsible--directly responsible--solely responsible.
8. Who makes a list of eight things? No one. That would be ridiculous
9. Now, nine, that's getting somewhere. That's like saying, I don't need ten items. I'm content. I'm satisfied. I need nothing more.
10. Yet, ten is so complete. It ends many things, like counting to ten, and a train with ten cars, and ten lists of ten things.
11. Eleven? Idiots.