This weekend I did this.
I own many pairs of shoes and assorted children's toys.
So as of right now, my apartment looks something like this.
We found 1 bent knitting needle, a lone purple crayon, dusty lightbulbs, a lot of sunscreen, and eventually the matching knitting needle. Also bent. And found in a different closet.
Related: The boyfriend is a very patient man.
However, that assumption turned out to be wrong. And now I am moving in with the boyfriend.
The space will be tiny-ish, the neighborhood convenient but not permanent, our neighbors younger than us. It will be filled with too many clothes, lots of bottles, tea mugs on the coffee table, and bottles of water under bedside lamps. But we're making it ours.
And in doing so, many things have happened:
- We've been to Ikea twice in one day.
- The cat has lived here for three weeks.
- Three closets have been emptied.
- We've wondered if someone is randomly shaving in my bathroom.
- New keys have been made.
- A cat escaped his carrier.
- An ongoing battle of stray litter has begun.
- A kitchen has been painted.
- Tile has been selected and purchased.
- Shelves await installation.
- Brownies have been baked.
- The house has been taken over by pine-scented soaps and candles.
- Laundry has been forgotten.
- One Hallmark movie has been watched.
- The New York Times has been delivered.
- Parents have brunched.
- And so many other things.
But somewhere along the way, my apartment started to feel like a storage place and not my home. My bed became the one that didn't provide a restful night's sleep. And the better shampoo was found in his shower, not mine.
There is still more time before the keys to my place get turned over to the landlord. In fact, I'll still have the apartment for a few more months. But all of my clothes are gone and the rest of its contents is slowly being emptied.
I'm getting used to calling this place home. The boyfriend seems to like having me here. And Radley is making himself comfortable.