Today marks my first week in my new house.
Despite the fact that I have been unpacking, cleaning, organizing, sorting, moving furniture, hanging photos, painting, and other general manual labor that usually results in a meltdown with me curled up in the fetal position on my couch, I love it.
Despite the fact that I have seen a cockroach in my hallway that could very easily meet the 40 lb. requirement to set off my motion-detector on my alarm system, I love it.
Despite the fact that I lie in bed at night frozen in terror and clutching my gun because I’m absolutely, 100% convinced there’s a robber in my house, I love it.
I love it because I’m near the people I love. I love it because I can’t do yard work because so many people drive by, see me outside, and stop for a visit. I’ve missed that. I love it because I can sit on my front porch with my coffee in hand and watch the sun rise over an old peach packing shed and a field of donkeys, goats, and horses.
I’m slowly making progress.