Living in my apartment is a weird thing. There's this feeling of going back in time. Am I really back to apartment living? Am I back in grad school? It's one of those things that, once you live in a house, you think you'll always live in a house. That you'll always have all that space. Now it's all so compact. Of course, on the flip side, every time I get groceries, I've got to haul them up to the third floor.
Yes, this is a temporary arrangement. Hopefully no more than 6 months. But 6 months is still a pretty long time. I'm renting furniture, which only increases the weirdness factor. It's not my comfy bed, and it's more coordinated than I would go. And more brown. It's single-guy furniture. Not that that's a bad thing, but it's not me.
Anyway, it's better than it was when I first moved in. We've rearranged the furniture, and I've brought some stuff from home that has made it feel more like mine, as opposed to some weird hotel. I'm tempted to bring more things in, but everything that gets moved in has to be moved out, so I'm trying to resist those temptations.
I have a loft and I'll be damned if I have any idea what to do with it. It seems like a good idea, but then there's this spiral staircase...
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