|Spoiler alert! The living room is partially done.|
There's not an inch of my body that hasn't been aching in the past week!
I creak, I pop and I grunt like an 80-year-old man with every movement. I moan every time I rise from a chair and my joints mimic rust each time I sit back down. My skin feels like sandpaper and looks even worse!
Good news is, it's because moving day happened 8 days ago. Yay!!!
Bad news, my pale skin managed to bump into every box, piece of furniture and appliance that made its way up those three flights of stairs.
|Lest ye forget...|
I've got cuts in places I don't remember scraping and so many bruises that, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the shower, I look like a breathing Rorschach test! I was worried, for a split second, that the veins in my hands were showing signs of cardio distress... only to realize it was remnants of teal paint.
Then there was all the squatting, bending and reaching involved with painting the bedroom as well as various pieces of old furniture that just didn't look up to snuff in the new place.
Oh well. I ache, therefore I mortgage.
In other moving news... I sleep like a baby in the new place!
I credit it to the open door wall, providing a pleasant summer's breeze. The calming shade of Salzburg Blue (Benjamin Moore #755. Two thumbs up!). The luxe caress of brand new bedding.
The only time I haven't slept like a baby here is when the neighbor's infant decides to change the definition of that phrase.
I should count my blessings, though. If you must share a bedroom wall with a crying baby, thank my lucky stars this one's not a screamer. His (Her?) cry is more of the "Coo... coo... wa-ah.. [sigh]" variety. The real entertainment starts when its Middle-Eastern father appears to sing it back to sleep.
I may learn a foreign tongue, if for no other reason than to decipher the soothing phrases that lull the little one back to slumberland. Is it an immigrant's lullaby, passed down through his ancestors? Or, is he just gently threatening the babe with sweetly sung consequences of being awake at such an hour? (♫"Little one, don't you know, I wake in four hours to earn you food to eat? ♪ Shush your mouth, close your eyes, and just...)
Reason Two to become bilingual: To get a better grasp on what he and his wife are bickering about at equally late hours. If I must hear it, at least grant me the ability to pick sides!
After a good night's sleep, on the weekends, I always enjoy my breakfast in (one of the few completely finished rooms) my Florida Room. A routine I pictured even back in the house-hunting phase.
|I woke up like this. Sorry you had to find out!|
A toasted Eggo tastes extra filling out there while I spy on the neighbors and watch birds commit unintentional suicide one-by-one as they fly into my floor-to-ceiling windows. (I swear, its like the Hale Bopp cult of sparrows around here!)
Then, it's always back to the boxes and their reciprocal paper cuts. It may ache for a short while, but it's no death-by-plexiglass!
Slowly but surely, this condo is becoming a home. [Insert smiley emoticon that Blogger's template doesn't support.]