What J-A did next

After four days of non-stop packing/unpacking, the new flat is finally looking like a dwelling place instead of a rented storage space. We have new lamps and new cushions and the living room and kitchen looks vaguely presentable (but let's not talk about the bedroom). Most of the move went by without a hitch; of course, we had to create one. All the physical exertion made M. and I ravenous with hunger, so we bought a whole load of groceries on Sunday. It was when we were carrying them out of the car into the building when M.'s yells and the sound of cracking glass coincided.
"What happened?" I said before I realised I was looking at the answer: the smash of glass was the fate of the two kilo-jar of kimchi that he had been carrying. The plastic bag had split. A bright red streak of pickled cabbage was spread out on the cement like blood on a crime scene.
"Oh God. I think we have to clean this up," M. said.
"No." Denial seemed the best solution to my horrified mind.
"Yes. We should," M. said. Drat. We can't run? The next thirty minutes was spent scrubbing the floor with newspaper rolls. I think the stairs still smells of fermented garlic so I am avoiding that entrance.

Dragging my tired body into work was another matter. It wasn't getting up on time that was the problem: it was the problem of how to look like the equivalent of a reliable sedan instead of a beat-up banger. The solution was a mask-like face that shimmered with eyeshadow and blush. The day passed by at rocket speed - one minute I was in computer training, the next at lunch - perhaps because I had three cups of coffee. At the end of the day, I was so tired I felt nothing: I had reached nirvana, I was numb to the world. I had received my first work assignment already but I decided to take the assignor's statement at face value. He had said, "Don't worry, it doesn't have to be done tonight," so I went home instead of troubling myself with the subtext of the statement (which, in case you were wondering, would be: "Please have it on my desk by tomorrow morning"). M. told me I passed out on the sofa after dinner.
"I tried to wake you up to brush your teeth but you were knocked out," he said.