How a Hobbit Feels When He Realizes the True Joy of Above-Ground Living

I cannot believe I lived in a basement for six months.

That's the line that has been running through my head a million times as I survey my gorgeous, wonderful, bright, spacious, "me", new home.  Is everything finished?  Hells no.  In fact, I just discovered yesterday that I had packed a "secret box" filled with old lube and condoms back from my wilder days.  SO GLAD I transported THAT ONE through a couple of moves!  (By the way, could anyone use some old lube and condoms?  I have extra.)

I've been back to the basement a few times, picking up odds and ends, spraying down hidden corners where my dog thought it'd be a good time to relieve himself, and vacuuming like mad.  And while it really is a very nice basement, I'm just surprised that we were able to squeeze all five of us (counting fur kids) down there for so long. 

I am so, so grateful to The Boyfriend's parents for allowing us to encroach on their space for half a year, but I'm also ridiculously happy to be back in my own place.  A place where I can eat spicy foods and not have to worry that I'm offending the people in the room across the hall, you know, "later".  Where I can tromp around shamelessly in my underwear.  Where I can relegate the catbox to a place NOT five feet from the place where I sleep.

Life is good, I tell you.  Life is good.