moving, or redefining the role of "home"

so, i'm moving in two days. i have completely dismantled my apartment, gotten down into the darkest recesses of every closet and every cabinet. everything that isn't nailed down (and even some stuff that was) is in boxes. my kitchen table has been taken apart, as has my 1920s vintage vanity and all of my bookshelves.

my apartment has now ceased to be my home.

i don't recognize it anymore. i made a pizza, but i couldn't find where i had packed my oven sheet or my aluminum foil. nothing is where i am used to it being. my bathroom echos because i've taken down the shower curtain and all of my towels. all of my photos are off the walls and all of my DVDs are packed. even my simpsons stuff.

and i know that once i move, i will be setting up a new apartment. and it won't be "home" until everything has a place. until i reach for something instinctively and it's there. a cookie sheet, my perfume, a pencil sharpener. i'll feel unsettled until things are in place.

and it'll be nice to be unsettled with another person. and as a joke, i'll unpack his stuff and put it in places he'll never find it. heh-heh. hey, this could be fun!

but i really do enjoy setting things up. i enjoy unpacking and finding stuff. it's like christmas all over again. of course, it's all used stuff, but that's ok. i know i'll like it.