31 days to possession
It’s the nervous laugh that comes when it shouldn’t: in trying times and difficult situations, when your best friend tells you he/she’s been dumped. Your first instinct is to laugh.
Since winning the ugly baby, Paolo and I have been grinning like fools and laughing out loud. Oh holy mother of god. We’re ripping apart – top to bottom – a tiny apartment in which we’ll simultaneously live. We’ve signed up for this.
But I’ve never even used a crowbar!
With 31 days to go, we’ve got a month to wait – or is that a month to plan? Certainly four weeks to pack and move – the boring details to get us from here to there. Oh shit, moving! I need to book movers.
Holy. Hell. Paolo’s decompressing after the most stressful week of our lives and – me? I’m actually swimming in a world of pretty pictures. Years’ worth of daily home blog reading, entire giga-bytes of saved-to-desktop idea photos… and all the possibility in the world.
- Is the bath tub getting hacked, to make bigger closets? Parents with small kids will run, but singles would love a sleek glass shower.
- Do we make the storage closet an office? An all-singing, all-dancing laundry room? A pantry?
- And, most of all, exactly how long will it take to eradicate that popcorn ceiling?
Future apartment buyers of Vancouver, what will you want!
Hey Pandora, got some sticky tape? Your box won’t stay shut.