I Need a Title

Two years ago, I moved into my very own apartment for the first time, which was exciting and awesome and kind of scary, especially that first night, when I didn't yet have sheets that actually fit my bed or curtains to replace the unappealing Venetian blinds that weren't wide enough for the huge window they hung in.

But when you live in a studio apartment, it doesn't take too long to get settled in, because there just aren't that many ways to arrange things, not very many spaces on the wall to cover.

Oh glorious curtains, you blocked out the eastern sun so well, even though I didn't hem you until a year and eight months later or something ridiculous, at which point I had to use a sheet to block the sun because in May it was already time to live in lethargic darkness. 

A note about those curtains: they are great when they're hanging up, but they are not great when you are deeply torn between being a perfectionist and being not that great at sewing or having enough space to actually lay things out on a flat surface and properly measure/cut/make things be right angles. For that reason, we purchased our living room curtains already made, although I still fit in a lot of agony about which ones to buy to make up for all the time I saved not almost screwing up their fabrication.

I think it's fun to see how the space changed over two years. That apartment was the longest I stayed put in any home other than the ones I lived in as a barely-cognizant infant-through-kindergartener and then from kindergarten until college. (Sidenote: Is it weird that I never realized cognizant had a Z in it until now?) Like most college students, I moved eight times in five years, thanks to some soul-stifling summers spent with my parents and that whole moving-to-Germany thing. I'm not going to say I ever got good at moving, though I like to think if I were undertaking a big cross-country move, complete with furniture and shipping giant boxes labelled KITCHEN and LIVING ROOM, I would get all the things in logical boxes so that they weren't awful to find, and everything, absolutely everything, would be packed up and out of the way so that on the horrid moving day, I'd just have to load up the truck (or have someone load it for me because maybe I'd be rich by then, please?) and head on out. But so far, I've moved an hour west, and then an hour back home, and then back to Ann Arbor again, and then six blocks away...

This is how you move a small loveseat when you are only moving it six blocks and you don't keep a car in that city; also, this might be my favorite college-era photo.

...and anyway, nothing is really that pressing when you're moving three doors down, and so that is why I am still not the best at packing.

In between those ellipses, I went to the movie theater and saw a movie that was longer than I expected. So I will postpone the remembering of my old apartment and discussion of how nice it is to rearrange furniture when you're in a place for more than a year for tomorrow.