And, naturally I am posing for pictures with a box on my head instead of actually unpacking them. Success!
It has been a crazy past few days, but the good kind of crazy. Our actual stuff was finally delivered from the movers(!) only one glass was broken(!) and it only took Brett a few hours to assemble an Ikea bed(!)
Being the good wife that I am, I stay home during the day trying to set up the house while Brett is at school. I've been pretty good about it too. Today I listened to Justin Bieber while unpacking a box, took a break for lunch, and came back 3 hours later and decided to blog. Saying I have no motivation is like saying a 28 year old should not be listening to Justin Bieber.
I think my reluctance to actually wield a box cutter comes from the sad truth that I am literally setting up a home that I will not be living in. All around me are cardboard reminders that this won't be my home for another year. I deal by listening to bad music and taking obnoxiously long breaks to stare at the ceiling and meet my one friend in Pittsburgh for chicken salad.
In other words, I'm coping really well.
THE GOOD NEWS IS we actually slept in a REAL LIVE BED last night. We did an Ikea run, (which is just a story in itself. We bought so much damn stuff that Brett packed the car with me sort of as an afterthought. I had to curl myself in to the one space available-which was the space with the metal bed rod poking me in the back of the neck and my head turned sideways pressed against a couch box. The whole time Brett was driving I kept screaming: "I SWEAR TO GOD I CANNOT DIE BY IKEA. DON'T LET ME DIE BY BED FRAME!" This kept up for about a half hour.) Anyway, while I was at an event trying to make friends in 2 hours, Brett assembled the bed and I swear to God Almighty I wept at the sight of a mattress on a frame. It was gorgeous.
We're slowly pulling it together!
So, my stay here is half over, and I apologize if you are my friend (for many reasons,) but mostly because I know you haven't heard from me. I am so absorbed with following Brett around like a puppy, making him cuddle me in the sweltering heat, and memorizing every little line on his face. (So, all two lines.) I just can't imagine leaving him in 11 days- so I won't. I'll stare at this mountain of boxes, eat some more chicken salad, and ignore the inevitable plane ride where security will probably ask me to please remove myself from the airport.
But I should probably go and unpack another box. Because I can't even see my feet.