So we’ve moved. It didn’t go great. The cat did much better than expected. I did much worse. I feel like I’m in mourning for the old house.
I loved it. I was so happy there. Finally, happy. I didn’t want to move, I just wasn’t ready when it was time. I’m still not ready.
The new house is nice. It has more things about it that I like better, but it’s new and a big change all around. And above all I wasn’t ready.
All I can think is since we had to move in a certain amount of time we couldn’t be very picky. We had to take one of the first ones that hit most of the boxes, and now we’re locked in for a year.
One year. I’m giving it that year to see how much I like it here. I don’t want to move again but I’m giving it a year.