Feeling Flat in the New Flat
Welcome to morning number two at the new place.
I came back here from work yesterday afternoon and I can't stop pacing. Me and the cats, aimlessly walking around, in and out of rooms, plopping down on a chair or a bed, getting up and wandering around some more. Not that there's miles of space to pace in (okay, it's not that small, it's just boxy ... a series of rooms off a hallway with a living room/dining room and a smallish kitchen off of that), it's just that I don't feel a sense of flow. The building was gutted and refurbed a few years ago, so there are chain-closing fire doors everywhere ... a bane of modern London architecture that, while appealing to health and safety, seems to block chi like Prozac quelling a good mood swing.*
I'm guess I'm just not comfortable with the energy here yet, it seems very static ... if that makes any sense.
I remember an immediate sense of "home" when we moved into B2. I don't feel that here. Despite having all our things (some books and shit still in boxes** as we need to find some shelving/storage furniture to replace the built-in bookcases we left behind) here, it doesn't feel like home. I feel like I'm in a lovely, sterile, corporate apartment. A clean, fresh, smart but characterless slightly bigger than boutique-hotel suite.
This too shall pass. I'll settle in. I'll listen to people tell me "it takes time" and "don't stress" and I'll know they mean well and that they have valid points, but still, I can't help feeling what I feel, right? It's just where I am. A little stressed. Feeling displaced and unsettled, floating around in a lack of permanence and a sense of discombobulation.
La la la.
Interesting. The character I worked on at Arvon is someone who's been wandering around, trying to remain detached while seeking enlightenment, and ultimately needs to figure out what he's running away from. I wonder if I'm manifesting some of that into my own psyche (or vice versa). Maybe all the journaling and introspection I'm doing might find a place in a story somewhere. Or maybe I'll get sectioned.
I hope I don't become one of "those" writers who lives and breathes his characters. Reminds me of the method actors I used to work with.
There is nothing so annoying as a method actor.
So here I am. Trying to figure out what we need to do/buy make this place more livable. Is there going to be a balance between the money/energy/time we spend to do that vs. the money we've saved by downsizing from B2? Because really, how long are we going to be in this place? I could have stayed in B2 forever a very long time. With this place, I'm not feeling the love just yet. But I will. Or maybe I won't. Maybe we'll just be friends.
And I reckon I'll get over this feeling like we've moved backwards.
Blah blah blah. The kitchen needs to be more functional. I can't get the dishwasher to work, the freezer and stove are doll-house sized, I already miss my ice maker, and there's hardly any cupboard space. The books need to go somewhere or I need to get rid of them. I hate getting rid of books. The bathrooms have no shelves, no storage space and no room for linens. There's no outdoor space. I already miss seeing the trees in the square across the street. I can almost touch the ceilings.
On the other hand, there are many good things. It's a gas stove. I love that. The shower pressure rocks compared to B2 (not like 88th Street — that was steaming hot hydro-exfoliation every morning). The master bath is very modern and has a separate tub and shower and is actually quite lovely (in a minimalist, brown and tan faux-marble ... ugh ... sort of way), and we'll find some storage units to keep things in.
The room I'm going to use as an office/writing room will be quite lovely, once I get all the shit out of it and organized. Again ... we need more shelving. Which is, of course, ultimately doable. It's all ultimately doable.
There's lots of counter space in the very bright, if not mildly claustrophobic, kitchen. So I just need to find canisters/spice racks to store cooking stuff rather then chuck it away in a disorganized cupboard. So what if there aren't any kitchen drawers? They just collect junk anyway.
Alright then. I'll unpack another box and wait for my dishwasher tutorial ... property manager should be here soon, then I have to go to school in a couple hours. Work was slow this week, so I had time to try and get a little settled ... jeez, just think what a wreck I'd be if I'd actually had to put in a full week.
And yet another thing to be grateful for. Ohm.
So thanks for indulging the whinge if you've gotten this far. This is probably one of those posts best left in a journal, but what the hey. It's the only thing I can think of writing this morning.
I'm fine, really. And when you come to the housewarming, you'll probably smack me. It's really a perfectly livable, cozy flat, in a better-than-average location, and things could be so much more uncomfortable.
Ohm. Ohm fucking shanti ohm.
* And yes, speaking of mood swings, I know I was very pleased on Wednesday night. Things went better than expected and now I'm back in the reality of it just doesn't feel like home yet. Livable, yes. Homey? Not so much. Bob being manic? We'll leave that to the trained professionals.
** I know. I know!!! It's only been a day and a half. I'm impatient. Sue me.