I haven't taken the "after" photos yet, although, not to get all new-agey on you, but when exactly is "after"? It's all feeling interminably like "during." We have gotten so much done: carpeting, painting, furnishing, requisite field trips to Ikea, and so forth. And yet there is still so much to be done: painting, furnishing, hanging something, anything, on the walls, going back to Ikea, unpacking more of the endless boxes and wondering how the hell we ever fit so much crap into our old apartment.
Mostly we are stealing time whenever we can to get stuff done and then stealing time from our stolen time to sit and vegetate and read or do a crossword or check email. One of my new favorite pastimes is to stare out the window at the trees with my mouth hanging open while I marvel at the beauty I'd been missing the dozens of years I was in New York, and pray that I will still appreciate it when it's not so novel. Although of course I miss my amazing friends and my life there, like, duh, the space and the beauty here are truly restorative, which is a huge relief given the level of my anxiety about making such a move. And the addictive rush of getting the house settled is better than sniffing glue. Poring over collected issues of Domino Magazine and figuring out a way to replicate a five-thousand dollar dining set on a mostly mid-level floor sample budget is fun for me. Like, really fun. Choosing paint colors, window treatments and lampshades could not be more interesting. Which means that I am so boring these days, I could put a sugar-hopped four-year old to sleep.