THINGS YOU THINK WHEN YOU HAVE A NEW HOUSE

If you are reading this, then I am with a overheated head up to my neck in moving boxes sealing the wrong sides with duct tape. Or I am standing with a screwdriver taking apart house and home. Yes, it is the day I thought would never come. We have a house. One with a roof on four walls, a kitchen that still has all its cabinets in the right color and with a square meter outside. No garden where I can investigate if I have green-thumb potential, but hey... a plant in a pot is also a start. So you suddenly start thinking very strange things about such a new house.

1. Just for the complete picture, it is a house in an apartment complex. Ap-art-ment-com-plex. Wow, what a lot of syllables. Doesn't sound that sexy by the way, apartment complex. Hello, I am Adeline and I live in an apartment complex. Hellooo Adeline.

2. But how long does it actually take to pack up your belongings? I still live in the illusion that this can be done in a Saturday, but I will talk to you again on Monday. Let me start with that pile of paperwork from ten years ago.

3. Goodbye super nice kitchen, goodbye shower where I have stood endlessly, goodbye balcony where we fit fifteen people while it has the load capacity for two, byee. Oh man, I think I will cry for a moment.

4. I really have a house, right? This is not a sick April Fool's joke, right, people? Because then I think I will go cuckoo. I HAVE A HOUSE.

5. As death, I am that my new neighbors of a certain age are including a walker and faux dentures. Even though old folks can take your packages all day long. Hmm, dilemma, dilemma. No, not really, because they always push in front.

6. I still have exactly 1080 kilometers to go from the current house. One thousand eighty, yes. At one thousand eighty-one kilometers you are in downtown Milan. Italiaaaa. So looking forward to vacation. Oh no, that can't be. We are moving.

7. Now I have to put my money where my mouth is and more of that kind of shizzle. Exercise. Oh my goodness, I have to go exercise. The motherly excuse for my exercise-avoiding behavior is over, done, finished. Simoon, are you not reading along?