new life, old life - where's the line?

(strolling down the aisle in Target with Max, shopping trip #484 to furnish my new apartment)

Becky: "With all these new things (job, apt, town, furniture) I feel like I'm starting a new life."

Max: "well, that could be because you are."

Becky: "yeah, and i have to start all over again when i go back to the coast in a few months. BLEH."

thus went the 484th shopping trip since I got my keys to my apartment on Friday.

(Insert Address here:
110 Pine Knoll Drive
ask me for the apt number, city & zip - I don't want lazy strangers wandering up to my door)

I LOVE my new apartment.

I love having a place of my own, that I can feel comfortable in, that I can decorate and have my angel picture and my cat and my TV and DVD's and remote all to myself and where I can cook if I want to (usually not a strong desire, but has been increasing in intensity due to my lack of ability to even CHOOSE to cook) and where I can have my little patio where shadow can look outside (after figuring out how to paw open the screen door) and lounge in the sun.

I love my new apartment.

I was happy as a clam, unpacking boxes of things I threw into boxes not so very long ago, when my other life was fading away and my new life was being carved for me. I unpacked dishes, only losing a few to the rushed packing job. I unpacked toiletries I hadn't unpacked when i moved to Biloxi 14 months ago. I found clothes I forgot I had, threw some away that should've been thrown away pre-move, and hung my shoe rack with delight - now I don't HAVE to wear my sandals every day. (OF course, I haven't unpacked/washed my trouser socks yet. That's for another evening.)

And with each box, my old life came back to me, just as I hoped it would.