I have what I call a dead house.- You know that weird stage of moving where you still technically live there, but it doesn’t really feel like you live there anymore? That’s where I am.
I’ve taken everything off the walls. Pictures are gone. Decorations are packed. All those little things I’ve collected and placed exactly where I wanted them are now wrapped in paper and sitting in boxes. Basically, I have removed every expression of ME from my own house.
And I hate it.
The walls are bare. The shelves are empty. There are boxes everywhere. It echoes differently. It doesn’t feel cozy anymore. It doesn’t even really feel like home. It feels like we’re squatting in somebody else’s house while waiting for our actual lives to start again.
The ONLY room I haven’t touched is my bedroom. My pictures are still there. My stuff is still where it belongs. It still looks lived in. It still looks like me. So naturally, I’ve decided I may never leave it. 😂
Unfortunately, I’m going to be living in this dead house for two more weeks. I know there’s something exciting waiting on the other side of all these boxes. A new place. New walls to decorate. New places to put all my crap. I’ll get to unpack everything and make another house feel like ours.
But until then? If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bedroom.
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