so it’s happening…moving into my own place. all a mix of excitement and nervousness and anxiety and tiredness. i would feel a lot better about it if the electricity was on – nobody can find the fuse box. but once that’s happened and my stuff’s in, it’s going to be excellent.
one great thing is the bedroom is huge, unlike my current shoebox, and even better, i have a spare room – a spare room i can use as a study! (that is, until my money runs out and i have to get a flatmate, but hopefully that won’t be right away) it’s an art deco building, so a bit utilitarian in the common spaces, but the flat is big and has curved edges and high ceilings and whatnot.
i’m starting to discover the idiosyncrasies of it already, and i haven’t even moved in yet. things like the ancient bathroom and kitchen (which weren’t a surprise, but probably haven’t been touched since the 1920s). like the ‘resurfaced’ bath, which has actually only been painted. like the interesting light fitting stuck together with masking tape. like the bedroom door not having a handle. like the place having been painted (so it’s nice and clean), but the painters painting everything – light switches, power points, the front door security chain…the bathroom window has been painted permanently open, so i have to work at loosening it and be glad in the meantime that the neighbouring block of flats doesn’t look into my bathroom.
but it’s my place and every time i go into it with more stuff i feel like it will be a cosy and inviting home to come back to every day. some places i looked at seemed alright, but when i thought about how it would feel to come home to every night none of them felt right. although the emotional response is not always clever (and you forget to check certain things, like whether the bathroom window shuts), it’s important to feel at home.
you’ll have to come visit.