...aside from the family picture up on our shelf, or the shoes that are scattered outside our door. Besides the loud voices I'm sure my neighbors are hearing, or the smell of soy sauce and garlic eminating from the house.
One of things that says that the unpacking has slowed to molasses, and that my nerves aren't quite as shot. That this place is starting to really feel like home:
I went to the library. I have books. I am reading.
I've finally carved out that special time during the day, where I can get lost in words. Where authors inspire me with stories and prose and characters I can't ever forget.
I don't like not having this time to myself. Through my phases of crafting, of work, of career modifications and life changes, I've always wanted a book nearby. Whenever we move, I'm pressured to spend my minutes unpacking something, hanging something, keeping someone else's morale high. I clamoured to get back to reading, to talk about books, to add books to my list to read.
My house is still messy, and my ladder is still out. The drill is plugged in for another round. We still have the barest of walls.
But that's alright, I can take my time from here on out.
The books above are in my queue. What's on yours?