I was in Walmart the other day, with the intention of JUST getting keys made to our new home. I wonder if I should say MY new home yet? When does that transition officially happen? Anyway, I wound up with a 64oz container of handsoap (you can never have too much), four small pots of yellow mums, one hanging Pothos and a small pothos with a climbing vine, a pretty blue flowerpot, amazing microfiber car washing towels, a belated birthday card, hair detangler and a diet coke.
A house is just not a home unless there's something living in it. So it's good that I got some plants, I suppose. I'm still not yet sure if I'm actually living, here.
Did I ever tell you about the story of how I started writing S.O. rather than "__________"? (S.O. as in Significant Other). He found my blog by accident one day after I'd been posting for about a month and while we were upstairs in our bedroom, he casually said "I'm not sure why you're doing this, although I'm sure you think it's cute, or cool--but from now on, please keep my name out of your fucking blog." That may not be exactly right, but it's a close paraphrase.
Here's to you, S.O. I kind of like the generic moniker anyway.
By the way, I never did sell the fridge or the furniture. I may actually like working from home a couple days a week. Decorating the house will probably help me to feel like I have something to hold onto that is "me"--or I can at least make it appear that way.
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