Forgive the self-referencing, but three and a half years ago this is what I wrote (on a past blog) my first night in this apartment.

"Young and I moved into our new place. For two guys who don't have a lot of stuff, we have a lot of stuff. Are there any apartments in Chicago that aren't on the third floor? Exhausted."

The place Sarah and I are moving into is on the third floor, by the way.

This is what I wrote the next day.

"After about 15 hours of moving, I fell into a deep sleep. My phone woke me up at 3 in the morning. It was Young, calling from the other side of the apartment. His newly painted bedroom door was stuck shut, trapping him in his room. 'I've been trying to open it for 15 minutes. Could you come over here and help. I have to use the bathroom.' Roommates."