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.