No one likes moving. The process of it, I mean. Sure, moving to a new place is exciting — bigger apartments! natural light! bedrooms with doors! (just me?) — but the actual act of moving is just that. A PROCESS.
Although we’ve been here for about a week, our stuff has not. This experience has caused Poet and me to sleep on the floor for two nights (that did wonders for our post-12 hour drive relationship) and the days since have been spent building, hammering, unpacking, hauling, etc. Have I explored the neighborhood? No. Do I know how to get to my new job? No. I DO however know how to get to the nearest hardware store, Trader Joe’s, coffee shop (with internet, of course) and bar. So, the essentials.
Unfortunately, despite the fact that I am staring at all of my living room furniture and there are finally pictures (that are framed!) on my walls, this doesn’t feel like home. I’m not sure when exactly it will start to feel that way, but I still feel like I’m on a vacation and any moment I’ll have to check in for my flight back to Charm City.