I AM GOING TO HAVE A TWO-BEDROOM APARTMENT. I cannot even fathom this concept. For so long I've lived in a studio. And before that, a one-bedroom apartment. And before that, another one-bedroom. Before that, a different studio.
Shit, I move to much.
But a two-bedroom. Oh, I quiver with excitement.
I don't even own enough furniture to properly house a two-bedroom apartment. But ask if I care.
Go ahead, I'll wait.
Oh? What's that, you say? Do I care that I don't have enough furniture?
Because I can leave one room and go to the next. And the next. And the cats can have their own room. And I can do cartwheels in my own apartment. And run laps. And if I misplace something, I can say, "Oh, maybe it's in the other room." Because I will have one of those, an "other" room.
Next on my life list is to get a new TV, a new couch, a desk and a welcome mat, but it's baby steps for now. Having an extra, unnecessary room is enough pleasure for now.