Keith and I signed a lease on an apartment this week.
We're pretty happy. It's a two bedroom, like we wanted; it's in the neighborhood we wanted; the only less-than-ideal thing is that the lease starts May 1*, which means we could possibly be paying rent on three places in May.
I'm hoping to find someone to sublet my current apartment, though. I'll be moving back up with my parents sometime in late May; my stuff (half of which is actually Keith's stuff, really, which is ultimately a moot point anyways since it is soon no longer "mine" and "his" but "ours") will go into the new apartment and wait for us there.
It's crazy, really. You have all these images of being married, and even though the reality will be different, now there's a place for those images to inhabit. I have these moments where I picture the Fiestaware sugar bowl on the counter, our coats in the closet, our towels (courtesy of the bridal shower!) in the bathroom.
And there is something sacred about that space, and those things in it. The makings of our life together, of the home it shall become.
*Well, that and the carpet color. And the weeeeird mirror thing in the living room. But that's what life's adventures are made of!
Reading this reminded me of my first marriage, and that first apartment in Charleston, SC, and all those other firsts that being newlyweds creates. I smiled. And also frowned (age erases those smiles, a natural occurrence me thinks).
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