Sticks and Stars

Last night we spent our first night in our new place. I wasn’t expecting that we would spend the night — or rather that we would move our beds, thus necessitating that we spend the night — but when a friend with a truck calls, you don’t look her in the mouth…or whatever.

The last two times I moved I hired movers, which was definitely one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. However, it also means that I look back at those last two moves (and subsequently all moves) with mover-colored glasses. This time I recalled moving as “not so bad” and decided that we could do it ourselves. Let me tell you, the time when you are moving into a three story dwelling is not the time to decide to do it yourself.

But all the big stuff, with the exception of bookcases that I am cautiously optimistic about being able to handle myself, has been moved, leaving me with mostly laundry basket and reusable grocery bag after laundry basket and reusable grocery bag to haul up my endless stairs.

But oh god the new place. For a while I was having second thoughts about this, that and the other randomly contrived concern (for example, no medicine cabinet in the main bathroom — really a dealbreaker) but now that I’ve spent more time in the space I must say, I love it. It’s so fucking pretty. Everything is new and nice and shiny and beautiful.

I am such a homebody. You’d think I’d have made the connection by now that a beautiful home would really make me happy. And there’s something about a new, carefully finished space that goes way, way beyond nicely arranged furniture or a pretty couch.

Usually when I move in to a new place I’m already feeling discontent and planning my move out, but I just want to live in this place forever. And I don’t think it’s some kind of stair-induced hallucination.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 17th, 2009 at 12:21 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.