Hello internet people! I am blogging to you from my exciting new (to me) desk next to our window in the APARTMENT. Yes, yesterday was the big day–move in day. And let me tell you, it was an adventure.
I woke at 6:30am yesterday morning in order to shower and be ready to go by 8:00am, the cars having been expertly packed by my father (with some help from mom and I, of course) the night before. I had my last Ohio breakfast for a while–waffles with my parents. Then it was off to the four hour drive, during which I listened to another book on tape and managed to consume an entire package of beef jerky in record time (I do not recommend this). And then, quite suddenly, we were passing the giant Shoe Carnival factory that has always said “I’m here!” to me and I was back in Evansville after our long time apart.
|Tired, makeup-less me in the APARTMENT as I write this post.|
It is a strange sensation coming back to a place that you spent a great deal of time living in, then been absent from for a signifacnt stretch of time. I kept insisting that this building or that was SURELY new, because I did not remember it. But when we drove up to campus itself, a wave of familiarity washed over me and it felt as if I had never left. Except, of course, for the fact that the check in process did NOT happen in Powell Hall, as it head my freshmen and sophomore years. I was living in an (on campus) apartment, the name of which I momentarily forgot when asked at check-in. I felt thoroughly disoriented heading to a different spot on campus to unload. Pleasantly disoriented. Mostly.
I was the first of my roommates to arrive and when I opened the door (which looks as if it may have at one time been mauled by a decently sized bear) the first thing that hit me was an unexpected feeling; disappointment. This place was a DUMP. The walls needed paint, the furniture was strewn all over the place, there was a DESK in the KITCHEN. Which, incidentally, has very bright, very old Yellow Wallpaper (the concern here makes since if you’ve read a little short story called The Yellow Wallpaper).
I am proud of my response. I took a deep breath. Chuckled a bit. Said something to the effect of “We’ll be needing to move that desk. But let’s get all the stuff in.” My parents looked around a bit. I could see it in their faces–they had expected something SLIGHTLY better upkept. My dad opened the fridge. “It’s blowing hot air.” He said. I sighed and read the magnet on said fridge, complete with numbers. I made a few phone calls. I did NOT (for once) cry. The fridge was all that mattered now. The fridge, and getting the place in order before any of my roommates arrived.
|My glorious (messy) desk.|
I was a machine. Bringing stuff in, moving the desk out of the kitchen, hanging the shower curtain (okay, asking my dad to hang it), rearranging furniture to something that looked significantly more liveable. My father cleaned the light fixtures. We counted one, two, three, four missing light bulbs. I made a mental note to buy some later, to light the place (which was dim, to say the least). By this point, I was INVESTED. The couches were properly arranged, the coffee table out, the light fixtures (semi) gleaming, the desk OUT of the kitchen. And at last, I could see it. This would be HOME, just as soon as my roommates arrived and we filled it with our stuff and found some way to cover the grim greyish white walls (without painting of course, which is strictly forbidden).
The fridge was quickly replaced by our school’s lovely Physical Plant staff and subsequently cleaned up by the cleaning staff. It reached a level of coolish rather than hotter than outside. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could go and buy my groceries. And everything was going to be all right.
Thus is my move-in experience so far. Two of my three glorious house-mates have arrived and we’ve made reasonable steps towards cleanliness and warmth. More exciting pictures will, undoubtedly, follow (once our things aren’t strewn haphazardly around the living room, of course).