Living in my small apartment is giving me deja vu about my old apartment in Allston, also known as the first place in my life where I renewed a lease.
While I loved my corner unit, the small kitchen, foyer, and two rooms put every inch of space at a premium, and any change had a massive domino effect. At one point, I started dating a tall boy, and fearing he'd be uncomfortable on my small loveseat, I gave it away and purchased a beautiful, long second-had sofa.
The apartment's size and layout meant I couldn't get the sofa into the living room, so I had to make my bedroom the living room, and vice-versa. Everything had to change, all the patterns of my motion, habitual movements had to adjust, and it threw me off for awhile. (The ironic thing is that the boy rarely visited my apartment, and I spent most of my time on that sofa alone.)
Today, as part of my attempts to organize my small condo, I moved lots of things: dishes, spices, furniture. The cabinet I'd bought while living in Allston, which has held spices for the last 13 years, is now in my living room. The spices are above my sink (my spices have NEVER been above my sink). Throughout all my travels, the many, many places I've lived, my furniture has grounded me, through habit buffering me from the disorientation of change. And cluttered as it has been, I'd gotten used to my place as it was. Today I moved everything around, and it certainly works better, but I feel slightly depressed, lost, like I'm suddenly in an unfamiliar place.
I'll get used to it again. In the meantime, the one thing that hasn't changed is that Amie loves to watch TV. I have the retro channel on, and she's glued to The Jeffersons. She is one hilarious bunny.