We have (finally) moved. It was not my most favourite of experiences, (in fact, it ranks extremely low on that list) but now it is over and we have all the things in their places and there are tulips on the coffee table in the area we have designated as our living room. It’s all very pretty, really.
My brain has not quite got used to the idea of this as home yet though. I keep catching myself thinking that I’m staying at a bed and breakfast. Although, as it was pointed out to me, it would be a pretty crappy bed and breakfast, as we had to both bring our own bed and make our own breakfast. And it has quirks, this place. Like a weird stair that goes up and then down between the kitchen and the living area. And a ridiculously low ceiling in the shower. (Compared to an apartment without walls, they aren’t big quirks.)
We’re not even close to being finished. Progress is slow, and made slower by our – especially my – exceptional procrastination skills. Slow, however, is better than nonexistent when we are talking about progress, so I’m feeling positive.
We have taken down all of our art and mirrors as well, which leaves us with a lot of empty beige walls. (And two fabulous red ones.) It’s all a bit sad looking. As I am writing this, my husband is putting more things in boxes, which basically makes me a big jerk, so that’s all for this evening’s scheduled programing. I hope you are all having a lovely week.
In the middle of our floor, between the living room and the dining room, is a large pile of cardboard boxes. They are something of an eyesore, yes, but more than that, they are clear evidence of a big huge project that has yet to be begun. We brought these boxes home last night and the plan is that we will put all of our things in them. It’s daunting. I look at them and I feel daunted. And taunted. I’m pretty sure the boxes are judging me for letting them sit in the middle of the room and not doing anything with them.