I am (usually) laid back to the point of flakiness, but when I move I channel my inner Anna Wintour a la decisive bitch better recognize BAM BAM BAM THIS IS HOW WE DO BAM OUT OF MY WAY I AM WORKING HERE. I also happen to be in love with this house in a way I didn't think was possible. It's just a house, I realize, but it feels alive to me. Alive and familiar in a way no other "home" has. Perhaps this is what pride of ownership feels like. Or adulthood. Or both. But something happened to me the moment I crossed the threshold with our first batch of boxes. And ever since I've been wandering around in a haze. A crazy bitch unpacking like a mofo out of my way ahhhhh haze, but a haze nonetheless.
Because there were tenants in this house, we didn't get the chance to really explore until we moved in and every day I discover something new. (Our mail is delivered through the original "mail" slot in the entryway. The door bell is an actual bell that rings in the kitchen.)