Stuck in an Elevator (but at least it's going up)

So the other Sunday, I finally moved out of the family house, hopefully permanently. There was far less drama than I expected there would be - although as I was moving stuff into boxes, my mom knocked on my door, handed me an additional box, then said "Here's another bo - huhuhuhuhuhuh" and broke out crying. I did not know how to respond to that.

I'm currently sharing a 2 bedroom apartment with Dek from VA and NWA and Fandom Live. It's a pretty good arrangement - we haven't attempted to stab each other yet, and we both agree that Bill Willingham should be kept as far away from the Batman comics as possible (or either of us, for that matter). Between the two of us we've managed to keep the place clean.

I hosted a housewarming party for some of the HGC/OGM folk this past Saturday. On the elevator ride to my 8th floor apartment, the elevator stopped. It was pretty scary, but we were able to laugh it off while we waited for the maintenance folk to pry the doors open. We learned that if the average Filipino weighs 75 kilograms, then the 8 person elevator limit lies and it should be the 550 kilograms limit you look at.

I think it was an apt metaphor for my life right now. I feel like I'm stuck in an elevator, but at least the elevator is going up, and I have good company to pass the time (and possibly eat when I get hungry).