I've put away my clothes in my tiny new closet, stacking plastic laundry hamper on top of plastic storage bin for lack of space. I've put up picture frames of people I love, arranged my familiar salmon-colored, ruffled pillows on my bed. I light my favorite candle which burns a familiar scent each day. My guitars stand guard dutifully in a corner of the studio bedroom.
I play familiar songs, watch familiar movies on a strange old t.v. I've screwed up several meals in my new little kitchen with old-crooked wooden drawers that I have to shove closed with my knee.
My toiletry items are arranged along the ledge in my shower with a shower head so low, I have to duck when I wash my hair. I use unscented shampoo and conditioner because I'm sensitive to smell. I use Hemp-Peppermint soap, because all the other kinds smell too much like flowers, thus bringing on a headache like clockwork. Unscented hairspray. Recycled yogurt cup toothbrush. Floss threaders. Things that all scream, "Made for Meg. Only for Meg. Meg lives here."
But, I still can't seem to call this place home.
Maybe I'm rushing it. Maybe I'm doing the same thing with my new apartment that I've done with all romantic relationships in the past. After week two and date five, out comes the question, "So, do you love me?"
Read the rest on my NEW blog HERE. (Yes, I know I just announced that I was keeping my blog on this site, but everyone has an easier time posting comments on my new website.)