Sunday was the husband and I's first anniversary. A whole year! It went so quick. It feels like an accomplishment even though we just lived life and it wasn't very hard. I think we passed the first year test with ease.
The anniversary felt extra exciting because we moved into a new apartment on the 30th. So we awoke to the first day of our second year of marriage in a brand new, clean, happy, open, non-attic apartment with a washer and dryer and a dishwasher and a cute lil mailbox and vaulted lighting and room for our kitchen table. Josh lovingly says "it finally feels like a home! Now I know why we were so unhappy for a year!" to which I raise my eyebrows and frown because I had no idea we were unhappy to which he laughs and hugs me and says it was a joke. Gotta keep my eyes on that one.
New apartment really is a
real home. It gives me motivation to get off my butt and do all the things I've been neglecting. Like flossing. And decorating. And looking for a nursing job. And finally writing those last thank you notes from the wedding (that's embarrassing). And (obviously) blogging. Old apartment was fine with me being a recluse who watched 3+ Malcom in the Middle episodes every morning in my pajamas while eating Honeycomb or an equally sugary cereal. But new apartment is so much more. For instance, I was doing laundry this morning when I noticed my tummy rumbling. I remembered we had wedding cake (as tradition goes we ate some on our anniversary and the rest was still in the fridge). I pulled it out and sat down with it in my lap, my fork poised to dig in and eat the rest of it in its entirety. But then I looked at these beautiful walls, and felt the cool breeze from the air-conditioner, and heard the fully-functioning dryer working diligently, and I remembered it was 8:30 am and put the fork down. Oatmeal is a better choice.
New apartment expects more of me. I'm gonna try to not let her down.
