Sitting alone at home next to a sunny window. I’m drinking a beer and watching sports, unusual for me, but no one is watching, no one sees me. Weirdly affirming to play normal. An isolated snippet of dream, apparently unrelated to the rest of the night’s.
We’ve bought an overly spacious house far in the country from our current landlord. I consider worrying about him, but realize if anything goes wrong I’ll now be dealing with the bank who gave us our loan — an altogether different beast, thankfully. The only landlord foibles I’ll be dealing with now are his shoddy fixes and poor communication / documentation. For instance, I remember spotting a 1950s fridge shoved in the back corner of a tiled shower room.
Often we have multiple rooms of the same kind — four different kitchens! I fantasize about how I can convert them for various specializations. The largest of the kitchens is an extended hexagon with a large central island, already suited for heavy-duty work, a room I’d obviously love to make my workroom and fill with tools (all in their special place).
There’s another thought, though. Now that I’m no longer under as much pressure for space as in the city, will I actually do this? I got the odd sense there are some rooms I’ll probably forget about. Imagine that! We’ve been living here several days already and still haven’t gone back to the upstairs level; the last time was when we did the inspection. Having a real place of our own is different than I might’ve expected.