My flat looks like a refugee camp. There are canvas bags covering every available surface, tubs of clothes, of hair products (two tubs) of kitchenware, plates, books, DVDs on every unavailable surface. I have managed to keep my bed almost free of stuff - I ate my cereal there this morning, it was just too overwhelming to sit on the free spot on the sofa confronted by all that STUFF. It doesn't seem to matter how much I unpack, I end up with another pile of things I can't get rid of. Old stuff discovered last night included a letter from a friend HANDwritten when I was in my final year of university, he in his first year of training contract in London (how we've changed), (more) unopened bank statements from 2002-2005, my graduation photo (so THAT'S where I kept them), my diffuser (I've been looking for it since my sister gave it to me for Christmas, 2005), said sister's university offer letters, lots of blank Christmas cards (have put them in a safe place for the winter) and a fairly heinous "smily" cushion which was clearly put away for a reason.
This is NOT the mass of the stuff I'm keeping. I keep coming across paperwork I should probably keep (isn't there something about keeping records of payment for seven years? Well, I'm keeping the stuff I can find from my current 2-year-old job), and I seem to have more clothes than you'd think one person could possibly wear, and yet this is all the stuff that's on current rotation. I've got rid of stuff I haven't worn in years, I've DONE the two-year-test! Sigh. Well, I still have some time...
I guess that's the big news that's giving the whole packing malarkey more focus: I've signed a (provisional) lease, and I get the keys for my new place on or before July 13. Which is rather exciting. Nice to have a goal. I can totally imagine settling into the new flat, but I'm becoming increasingly aware that my impression of my new life is based on a total disregard for the aforementioned stacks of belongings currently strewn about the place. In my mind, I'll have just a sofa and loaded bookshelf in the living area, maybe some beanbags, and just a wardrobe in the spare room and a bed in the main room. Of course, this isn't going to happen. More space means more space to FILL with stuff. I am going to try to control my spreading habits. Hmmm.
The great thing about moving into the next door building is that it's a new start but tailored for the change-phobic. My excitement is actually overwhelming my worries. For now. Before reality sets in and I realise how broke I'm going to be for the next few months.
I met the landlord-to-be on Saturday to sign the lease, and he seems to be a good guy. A man-hungry friend asked if he was cute, but that's another story. He speaks fluent English, which is a nice change from the current ones, and accepted my lower rent offer, which makes me like him even more. There are a couple little jobs to do in the flat before I move in, and he was willing and eager to get them done. One things was getting curtains made and put up - unfortunately, this is where we may fall out.
He's clearly got a particular budget, because I was invited to select from a particular rail of fabrics - yes, he's letting me choose, which is quite cool. Or so I thought. Unfortunately, these choices are all rather HK. That is, bright, floral, or striped, or... well, pretty awful, if I'm honest. The ones in my current flat are hideous, too - but I never intended to stay as long as I have! I eventually settled on a pretty plain cream cloth - figured they'd keep the room bright and big. And they were the only really palatable choice. But the estate agent rang to say the shop didn't have the fabric in stock after all, I have to go back today and choose an alternative. I'm tempted to just say forget it, I'll buy something at Ikea. I might do that anyway. I'm too old to live with someone else's choices. If I'm not at a place where I can buy my own place, I am at least at the stage where I can choose what my home, however temporary, looks like. So we'll see if there's something non-nausea-inducing and go from there. If I get his things up and buy something else from Ikea for my stay, so be it.
In preparation for The Big Move, I'm trying to work out ways of cutting down on spending. Or so I tell myself. I spent an hour last night making enough bulghar wheat salad for three lunches (bulghar, cherry toms, red and green peppers, chick peas; might chuck in a can of tuna for wednesday) and a sort of bolognaise (BLOGnaise, ha) or ragu (minced steak, tinned toms, chopped fresh toms, splash of wine - and as further proof of my befuddled mind, I poured myself a glass to sup while I cooked and completely forgot about it while it went warm, then poured one for dinner and left it in the kitchen! - Japanese mushrooms of some sort, kidney beans and peas, with lots of lovely cumin, onions, garlic, naturally, bit of coriander powder and a touch of cinnamon) to freeze. Figured when I move, it will be good to have something in the freezer. I actually really enjoy cooking (for myself - I panic a bit when I have to work out portions for more than four) and should really do it more often. It's cheaper and far more nutritious than anything you can buy for lunch. But when you sit at work all day, it seems just too much effort. Well, I'm going to make the effort. I hope. I intend to. It's just yummier.
And when I'm finally settled in properly, I'm going to see if I can follow some of this: http://www.thekitchenrevolution.co.uk/. It just makes sense. And besides, leftovers rock.
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