February 7, 2013 by E.
So it’s official. After spending the 16 months living in different cities, separated by an agonizingly slow, unreliable (unless you could being always late as a consistent enough time to be relied upon), and mostly miserable 6 hour Amtrak train ride, A. and I officially moved into our place on January 28, 2013.
Technically, our possessions have been located in this apartment since December 14. But that should hardly count, since we had no dresser, no couch, no furniture except a bed and a desk (desk chair not included), and left 3 days later to spend Christmas with our families and then take a month long vacation traveling throughout Italy.
For those reasons, I count our official move-in day the Sunday we returned from Italy and began to sort through the utter chaos that was our 650 square-foot
closet apartment. I moved from a 850 square-foot apartment in which I rented the master bed, with attaching master bath (double sinks, double cabinets) and walk-in closet. He moved from a 1,050 square-foot condo in which he had the large 2nd story master bed, with attaching master bath (whirlpool jacuzzi), two closets, and the use of a garage for storage.
To say that condensing and organizing all of our belongings was a challenge would be a monumental understatement.
Now that we’ve been here for almost two weeks, we’re nearly there. We’ve purchased and had delivered a dresser, coffee table, ginormous, amazing couch, and two side tables. I’ve cut the clothes hanging in my closet by close to half, and given away several pairs of shoes that were either redundant or uncomfortable or both (but don’t let this fool you – I plan on a mini shopping spree as soon as that first paycheck hits which would be…oohhh tomorrow). A. has given away 80% of his ratty college t-shirts, keeping only the ones that hold sentimental value. I’ve tried to do the same, but some of my sorority shirts are just too good to let go (the Sorry for Partying shirt holds such great memories)!
Anyway, the point of all this is that merging our possessions, our lives (goodness, how dramatic!), hasn’t been easy. As much as we thought we knew each other, we’re still figuring out what it means to be a couple, instead of just two people. Or at least I am. A. is usually much more mature in these instances.
So count on some amusing stories to come out of this new development. Because I can’t guarantee we’ll always cohabit in peace or in joy (we got an extra comfy couch in case A. winds up having to sleep on it some nights), but we will always cohabit in love.