Every time I move, it further cements the feeling that I never want to move again.
- I hate packing up all the odds and ends that I’ve accumulated over the years.
- I hate acknowledging that I’ve accumulated so much crap.
- I hate boxing everything up, only to realize that I still need something…and who knows which box it’s in.
(I should say, I do like the purging that comes with packing, but it never seems to be enough to make a dent. Also, Cla doesn’t live here anymore, so it’s a little harder.)
Bottom line, I always tell myself: I’m never moving again, until next time.
But now “never again” is over, and “next time” is in about three weeks.
Because we bought a house.
In the suburbs.
It’s still a little surreal, but the craziest part is how quickly it went. We toured the house on the 23rd of July; we closed on the 23rd of August. It was a whirlwind, but an exciting one.
There will be a lot of adjustments once we finally move in. First and foremost, our commutes. Right now Husband has the hour-ish drive out to Virginia for work, while I have the 15 minute hop downtown. In three weeks those times will be reversed, and I’ll find out just how little sleep I can function on.
But even that is minor compared with what we’re getting – the space, the yard, the community, the ownership.
I’ve loved living in the city, and I’m sure I’ll miss it sometimes, but I’ve always known that I’m a suburbia girl at heart.
The biggest challenge now will be convincing our friends to come out and visit.