Moved

Alright, so we didn't fuck in the new year.  Apparently us old fogies can't stay up till midnight after 5 days of frantic moving prep and the single most harrowing pass crossing experience ever.  (Seriously, driving in the American west in the winter is not much less dangerous than when the pioneers did it.)

We did however, win big on our apartment, which we signed the lease for before seeing it.

Folks, it feels FUCKING ENORMOUS.  I haven't had a living space where the bedroom is only used for sleeping (and fucking) for a very long time.  It's not huge, but after 2 1/2 years of 500 square feet of multipurpose space it feels enormous and luxurious.

As predicted I have been questioning the level of stuff we have in both new place and old.   I have a truly ridiculous quantity of doo-dads. (the technical term)  Semi-neat stuff that has no particular purpose, nor any place to go.  I want to just chuck the lot of it, but then there's a memory and a possible future use and it gets a little more complicated.

I haven't put up any decor yet, nor have I set up my altar.  Mostly because i want my new home to look like a home reflective of me and husband, not a dorm room, which I outgrew some time ago.

I need frames.  But not as much as I needed the vacuum I just bought.  Wall to wall carpets are cozy, but much more responsibility, and anxiety.  I also need a box spring, but the apartment manager's speech about bed bugs and second hand furniture scared the shit out of me. There will be no more dumpster diving in the immediate future.  Which I'm sure was the point.