Over the course of the last two (well, twelve) months, my roommates and I have been attempting to find a house to rent. No bueno.The end result was moving from a two story apartment to a three story apartment. My calf muscles look really great now (well, at least they should, given how sore they are).
Things I’ve observed in this process:
- I’ve had numerous dreams about finding a home to live in. None of them involved a smooth lease process or a normal looking house. Last night’s dream included my mom helping us look for a house (she had bright pink hair and had gained about 150 pounds (weird)) and my bedroom was the loft overlooking the living room in a lodge-type old house that smelled like 40 years for smoke. Fabulous.
- I have managed to collect a ridiculous amount of white plastic hangers.
- I have been tossing out books left and right – I’ve started calling it the “pioneer effect” as I picture myself tossing my beloved possessions off the wagon as the oxen dramatically pull the load up a snow covered, muddy trail.
- I have been tossing out clothes left and right.
- I have put the fake Christmas tree in the Goodwill pile. All my roommates, former and current, are all very happy. Well, maybe not TPalm. Have you seen her tree? It’s covered in all that fake snow and — it’s bright orange!
- I have (not) been tossing my shoes out left and right.
- I want to be a minimalist. Two shirts, two jeans, two skirts, etc. Wonder how that would work?
- It’s amazing how dirty a place looks and is, once you remove all the furniture and take down things off the wall. I consider myself to be a fairly clean person. Apparently not.
- I don’t think I want to move – ever – again – I’m going to live here until the saints go marching in.
finalite 