This has been a really, really big month. We bought a house! It's basically the best house ever. I got a new job - also basically the best ever. But with all this new awesomeness comes great responsibility. Even more than usual, there's always some project to complete, something to clean, and something to grade. I recently checked the time to find it was 8:30. I was ready to go to bed and had assumed it was after 11:00. I'm hoping that I adapt to this new schedule soon, or else I won't even be able to stay awake for local news.
The theme of this post is adaptation. I'm adapting to some areas of middle school (the kids, extra-curriculars, a later start) better than others (missing my high school colleagues). Some of us (me and Matt) adapted to our new home much better than others (the dog, who freaked out for a solid week). That being said there are still a few tricks to our house I have yet to figure out. Part of this is because the house was built in 1940, and it has lots of little quirks which I love - part of the charm of the place. Part of this is my failure to adapt to a new home.
I can only lock the front door about 50% of the time. I can't get the lock just right. Sometimes I go back in and lock it from the inside, and then leave from the sun room, which isn't terribly convenient.
I'm not sure where all the light switches are yet. I'm always fumbling around and slapping walls where I think the switches should be, especially in the kitchen and the office. I go into the office everyday, and everyday I hit the wall on the opposite side of the door. Embarrassing.
There are two lights in the bathroom. One is a regular, pleasant light. The other is a blinding beam of burning white light, which sears the eyes and heats the skin. Unfortunately, this light must be turned on in order to have the only outlet in the bathroom work, which I require for my electric toothbrush and hair straightener. This light is one of the causes of another problem - my leave the house time has increased by a good 15 minutes.
Every morning after I fumble around to find the lights and get dressed, I stare at myself under the bright light in the bathroom. I see flaws I didn't know existed in nature. The light shines like a beacon on every overlarge pore, chapped lip skin, and errant eyebrow hair. I smear powder over my nose, trying to cover the gaping holes in my face, only to see each individual fleck of powder reflected back at me. Putting on make up is an entirely new experience, as I can see every little blonde eye lash I have, and every spot where eyeshadow and eyeliner aren't quite blended. After this morning ritual, I head to the kitchen to make my lunch, where I have to remember the hidden light switch and remember which side the fridge opens - it's the opposite of any place I ever remember living. Then if I can lock the door on my first try, I can leave, if not, several more minutes pass.
The good news is my pores and I overall love the house. It's beautiful and wonderful and perfect, and I can't wait to finish decorating it and have people over to sit on the deck. I just wish it wasn't teaming up on me to try to make me late.