I would love to show you this picture and have you think my bloggy little librarian home is adorable and the bee's knees and so chock full of cozy-tidy-clutter that it could melt the heart of one of the White Witch's stone animals. The truth of the matter is that while this picture was taken after FINALLY completing the living room unpacking, the bedroom was a total and complete move-in disaster area, which I mostly blame on the simple fact that this place is 1/3 the size of our old house. And also, moving and unpacking SUCK.
But that's mostly been taken care of too.
Except the horse head.
My brother gave Patrick that for Christmas and we're still puzzling over where to put it. When you downsize to a home 1/3 the size of your previous one, you get to a point in which you literally have nowhere to put a horse mask other than atop your broom in the kitchen. I call that phase Horse Mask Phase.
I wish I could say that now that everything's mostly unpacked and kind of settled (as much as it can be, anyway, since we don't plan on staying here a second year and some things can just stay boxed), I feel at home, but my heart is still very much with RVA. This little tiny place by Mill Mountain feels like a cozy house, but it's not...home. I put a lot of effort into loving that city, and it hurts like a gaping wound still to have left it. I'm also kind of hermit-y and tend to gather a few close friends, so losing them all in one fell swoop of moving is incredibly rough, and as the weeks have turned into months, it's gotten hurty -- the ability to just swing over to Penny Lane Pub and share brie and and Grateful Deads while listening to the Beatles nonstop with my "old college" friends would rock right now. Just being around friends to support them in life and share stuff would rock. Adjusting to that loss is just something that's going to take time. < insert enigmatic shrug here > It's not like I haven't moved before, hello teen years of moving several times in succession, but it *is* different when it's entirely your choice (it actually feels *worse* because now I can't even stomp off and blame my parents, dammit). Moving someplace in winter when everything's bitter cold and miserable and ugly doesn't help either -- everywhere I go I'm like, oh my god this entire city is just one big Colonial Heights. So I feel like the Really Fucking Sad times are moments I shouldn't feel bad about. I know soon The Winter of My Discontent will pass and Spring will hit and I'll ride my bike to work on the Greenway and bluebirds will sing and make my breakfast and stuff. But for now, moving sucks and I'm allowed to feel bad sometimes. I'm trying to make sure it isn't *all* the time. At least my living room is cute and cozy and would melt the heart of a stone squirrel.
Now that I've gone down SUPER SAD LANE over here in WALLOWING SELF PITYING BLOG LAND, I should probably end on a high note of saying holy shit I found a SHEEP SWEATER while thrifting. So yey.