Here I sit in my new apartment after the first night of sleeping in it. My roommate is at the dining table on the computer, our blinds and sliding door are open, the dog is wandering somewhat suspiciously around and it doesn’t really feel like home yet. Often, I catch myself referring to my parents’ house as home and have to stop and take it back.

I imagine it will take a couple of weeks for this to feel like I’m not just at a hotel or a friend’s place … that this isn’t a vacation.

I went back home to my parents’ yesterday and mom was already rearranging my room. It’s to be expected — after all, I knew since I moved back in last fall that the room would be the guest room when I left again for real. But all the same, it was strange realizing that wasn’t mine anymore, and nor was anything else there.

On the plus side, my roommate is working out great and I think she’ll continue to. While her dog isn’t house trained yet, I’m confident it won’t take much time.

But then again, I’m an optimistic person, so I guess we’ll see.