I can speak with some authority on this topic, seeing as I have moved roughly 5000 times in my life. The longest I’ve ever lived in one place was a little over three years (the entirety of my high school tenure, thank god – switching schools would have been the icing on my unpopularity cake). As a child, I rarely went to the same school for an entire year. The average is a year per abode, with a few exceptions. I’m, what, 33 now? I’ve moved a lot.
So maybe I have some relocation issues. I do not like moving. Stacks of packed boxes fill me with despair. I’m tired of it. Tired of packing, unpacking, settling in and then moving out. Is a little permanence too much to ask?
That said…I love our new apartment. Love it. I would totally date it, and let it make me breakfast the next morning. I would even kiss it without brushing its teeth first. That’s how much I love it. I love the scarred wooden floors that creak, the kitchen with its barely-there counter space, the living room with the iffy built-ins. I know, you’re thinking that none of that sounds entirely fab, but you’re missing the point: it feels like home.
Most of all, though, I love the bathroom. Specifically the bath tub, which is claw-foot and deep and full of bathlike goodness. I could live in that tub. The room’s not too bad either. We painted over the dingy gray with a bright, sunny yellow and the transformation was incredible.
I hope this place is a keeper. Shackling myself to the radiator is just so much effort, not to mention difficult to explain to the neighbors.