I’ve finally found myself a place to live away from my parent’s home. It isn’t even that I’m working away for a couple of months again, this is a legitimate, one-bedroom, top floor, on road parking, twenty minute walk from work flat. I’m due to move in two days time so this weekend has been spent buying things.
I don’t particularly like shopping and shopping when it’s busy is really difficult for me. I carry a spiked ball to help ground myself when I expect a long shop. Hitting Ikea at the start of a month probably isn’t the best idea, especially now that people feel like they have more money after Christmas. Ikea was heaving at points, understandably.
Since I’m moving after work, I’ve only got the things that I don’t need to measure up for. I know the bedroom will fit a double bed and small chest of drawers. I know that I have space for bins in the toilet and kitchen. I know that I have space for a clock somewhere and a small table in the living room. I know this, that and the other and I’ve got the basics which will last me till next weekend, when I can try to organise getting internet, some living room furniture and whatever else I missed.
Trying to decide what I’ll take with me is kind of tricky. Looking at my stuff, all I can think is “meh, who cares”. I think I’ll feel a little different when I arrive, of course. The good thing about moving from my parents’ house is that I can take my time with the move. I can take as many trips back and forth as I’d like. But, hopefully, next weekend I’ll be nearly properly moved into my own home.