New floors, aaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re back

No this is not my floor, but I wish it wereAfter a full week of more dust than I’ve ever inhaled, bags upon bags of cement, all the furniture in the wrong place, and walking on planks to get from the bedroom to the kitchen sink, we finally have new floors. 7 days might as well have been 7 months. And the landlord, bless him, kept apologizing for the inconvenience and trying to impress me with his progress. But after day 3, I was all, “get the bloody thing done before I eat your young!”

So now we have some tiling. A step up, or four, from our former cheap linoleum that was stapled to the floating wood. Yep. Stapled. It actually took years to get the landlord to agree to do this, not that it should have. He didn’t take me seriously until I demonstrated exhibit A: the linoleum was literally disintegrating, to the point where a hole had developed between the hallway and the kitchen. I kept tripping over it, and when I used the safety argument, he caved in.

I won’t lie. It looks so much better. I can also do a fun “run and slide” maneuvre now. But what I love the most is having my home back. My furniture is where it’s supposed to be. The dust and dirt have been vigorously removed from any surface. I’ve actually never taken so much pleasure in cleaning.

During the ordeal, the weirdest thing was feeling displaced while I was still in my home. I felt like a nomad. I couldn’t cook because my kitchen was off limits, which threw off my nutritional clock for a good week. I had to chase food. I love to make my own meals, and healthy ones at that. So when I had to get take-out every day, I felt utterly unsatisfied. When I grew up, take-out was a payday treat. The custom still applies. But more than anything, cooking is me time. It’s the only time I’m ever really in the moment. The gym might be a catharsis, but cooking is my meditation. So yeah. I was a bit loopy for a week.

But now it’s done, and the boyfriend unit and I are back to nesting. It’s certainly an interesting time. I feel like I’m getting to know him, even though we’ve been together for 2 years. Living together brings couplehood to a new dimension. I’ve tried this experiment twice before, and each was very different. It’s working out a lot better than I thought it would. Not that I was expecting disaster, but moving in together takes some getting used to. I think there’s a 1- or 2-month adaptation period. During that period, you get annoyed by the most trivial things, but that doesn’t mean your irritation isn’t completely valid. My theory is that if you can survive the itch, you’ll be juuuuust fine.

So far, I can’t complain. Okay, so he leaves glasses everywhere, and I seem to find bottle caps in places where they shouldn’t be. But overall, we’re getting along. And that’s all we can ask for. Small victories by way of baby steps. Just like that cursed floor!

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