It took getting cancer to realize I'm happiest when I'm writing. It took getting cancer to make me a more patient person. And it took getting cancer for me to redecorate my apartment.
I'm not even kidding that much with that one. When I was sick, I promised myself that when I moved back to Brooklyn, I'd make my living space a positive, happy place with the end goal of living a positive, happy life. I can also be a huge homebody (or to use a term Jenna coined, "house cat") so I need my place to be extremely cozy.
Living at my parents' for the past 8 months has shown me how an abode ought to be treated and maintained (translation: my mom has made me a clean freak), so this past week while I was house sitting, I did a huge scrub down and prepped my room for a face lift. And after a trip to Ikea with Andrew, we finally took our living room from this:
September 2010 (the day we signed our lease)
To this:
Well, I mean, that didn't happen in a day. But it's a huge step up from THIS:
which was last December. (Hi, Hope.)
Yesterday my dad came in and spent all day helping me hang shelves, pot racks and sconces, as well as with painting my room an extremely lovely shade of lilac, so a lot of my progress is owed to him. (Recurring theme of my life? My parents being the best and most supportive, helpful people in the universe? Yep.)
Even though there's nothing in my room besides a bed, a bag of clothes and a chair with a lamp on it, it already has good juju. And I caught some great, solid zzz's in it last night (despite having no idea where I was when I woke up for a few seconds.) Knowing this is taken care of has lessened the load of anxieties I had about moving back in. Now to get a job...I'd be floating.
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