Growing Accustomed to One's Environment

I've been very frustrated with the snail's-pace of my settling into the new house. First I sprained my ankle the night before the movers arrived. I was in a lot of pain the first two weeks, hobbling around, leery of navigating the basement steps to move boxes down there. Then I finally went to the doctor and learned I had developed tendonitis and, on the second visit, bursitis in compensating for the pain.

I've been working six-day weeks this month. And with my commute, when I get home at night I hardly have the energy to find my pajamas, much less work on unpacking boxes.

And then there's the painting, which goes on and on and on and … . The workmanship is impeccable, but the pace is slower than slow.

And there's the enormous piece of art leaning against the living room wall. I can hardly make any moves on the living room until I resolve what to do about "The King and the Queen of the Prom."

Today I communicated with a woman who may find a home for the painting. She may come by the house on Sunday to see it in person. Eek. My house is in no shape for strangers to come by, people who don't know me and will form first impressions of me based on the maze of boxes that populate my house.

So when I left work tonight, I determined that when I got home, I would quickly eat my supper and then work on straightening and organizing the kitchen. I bought a microwave last week and needed to get it out of its box.

I brought down my laptop, stuck a movie in the DVD drive, and peripherally watched (listened to) "As Good As It Gets" while moving back and forth between the kitchen and the computer room.

Imagine my surprise as I came back into the kitchen and looked up. Rudi seems to know his place and have no problem settling right in there. Remind me never to leave the cabinet doors open in the kitchen!