My apartment is a wreck, which can only mean one thing - I FINALLY have furniture.

It took three-ish trips but Dad and I were able to haul all of my shit across the parking lot, up a flight of stairs, and into my living room with only a single pulled muscle between us. Among the mess - the large bookshelf, a small dining table and two chairs, a side table, and the desk.

For now, I have the dining table and chairs pushed up and centered against the back of the kitchen island; the bookshelf and side table are in my bedroom; and the desk will stay in the living room, in the corner by the sliding doors so I can gaze out on the scrubby little woodland barrier that stands between the back of the building and the golf course on the other side.

Dad offered to help with rearranging things but I was determined to do it by myself for some reason. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it “nesting” but I have a sense that decorating the first place I’ve ever lived alone is like some kind of rite of passage - further evidence (to myself and the world) that I am capable and independent.

We got everything moved in during the morning yesterday, then Dad left around noon and I set about trying to slide things around where I wanted them. Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of hip-thrusting involved but I managed to shove things approximately where I wanted them by 9PM-ish. Waking up for work this morning was nothing short of hellish, but I’m already in love with everything.

Now all I need to do is unpack my books and get them on the shelf, find a bed frame, and purchase some lamps of some variety.

I got to sit at my “new” desk for work today. For now I’m using one of the dining chairs in place of an actual desk chair (which is less than ideal when my back feels like someone’s Girl Scout macrame project) but I will hopefully be acquiring some comfortable seating soon. I received an email alert stating that my new armchair will be shipped sometime this week - a Christmas miracle.

Despite my mild discomfort, I almost enjoyed work today. Sitting by a window made a surprisingly substantial difference in my mood - I slid the blinds all the way back and alternated between typing and gazing out at the trees.

It’s rare but sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling of something like a combination of nostalgia and déjà vu when I see certain color combinations or places, even if I’ve never actually seen them before. I’m not sure how to describe it, to be honest; it’s just a vague and comforting feeling, like I’m remembering scenes from some happy past life.

I felt it for a second when I was sitting there, drinking my coffee and admiring the morning sunlight. It was the first time I hadn’t felt completely morose in weeks. I wouldn’t go as far as describing myself as “happy” but perhaps…content. Even just for that brief five minutes.