This post is very disorganized and not totally sensical and I just deleted a good portion of it, but that’s just a reflection of my mental state I guess. Moving is always a time of disorder — you don’t know where anything is, you are making due with the clothes that aren’t in bags and eating ramen because it is easy, regularly using things out of boxes because you don’t have places for them yet, still learning where light switches are, and which way certain cupboards open, and doing your best to remember, if you wake up in the middle of the night to pee, that you are now in a loft bed about 6 feet off the ground, so you can’t just swing your legs over the side and walk. Your normal routine is broken — not only can you not just go home and put your feet up, since there is still a ton to do, the places on your journey there are all different. The places you might have stopped for groceries, for example, no longer make sense, so you have to map new routes with new grocery stores and gas stations. You have to get used to having house keys after living in the country, and care about tv volume when that hasn’t mattered for the years away from civilization.
And you get rid of stuff because you just don’t have room for it and don’t need it anyway.
The change that is going from living with another person to living alone for the first time in a very long time is an even greater one…there is no one with whom to share an idle thought, no one to ask for opinions or help, no one to cook for but one’s self. There are certainly good sides as well — no one to eat the last of the left over fried rice, no one to make messes but one’s self, no one taking up any couch space but you or roll their eyes at your show choice or make you feel slovenly for your choice to stay in PJs all day.
But, regardless, my routine is broken. I am a person of routines. I am, honestly, excited about finding a new routine — there are so many interesting parts of my new world, from coffee shops to parks, and I want to see what they have in store. I have a nook under my loft bed that contains a love seat, and will soon, I think, contain my drawing table. And some lights. I want to make use of it, to curl up and watch tv and draw and paint under my bed. But first, I need to get order back into my life. I need a closet that makes sense and to get the items cluttering my hallway to the trash and the basement. I need to put away shirts that were used for wrapping breakables, and throw away the stack of empty flattened boxes. Or recycle. There is a place to recycle things not far away, I think.
And I need to get a spray bottle, because, apparently, the kitties think that a new apartment means that the ‘stay off the counter’ rules no longer apply.
And I need to get my day started. It is full of stuff to do.