across the canal

On Sunday morning my alarm went off after two hours of sweet dreams. I showered, got dressed, checked the apartment to make sure nothing was left behind, picked up the my last bags, went downstairs, dropped the key into the mailbox and walked to the metro.

Train. Sleep. Sadness.

Tube. I collected a new set of keys from a friend who had kindly enough got them the day before after a 24hour rush of collecting documents together.

Tube.

When I got to the front door, I had only seen once the week before the movers were there already. Sigh.

It did not take too long to carry all the boxes to the empty second floor apartment.

Sigh.

I sat down and looked around.

My new home.

And hour later I had found a supermarket and loaded up with cleaning materials. I got back and found a extra energy reserve from somewhere inside of me. I started scrubbing.

By the time my housemate arrived ten hours later, the kitchen was shining, plates and cups were in the right place and the bathroom smelt fresh and clean.

Home.

We have two big bedrooms. I have a real bed. No clic clac sofa bed but a real proper bed. And a wardrobe with mirrors. And a kitchen. With an oven. And a washing machine. And working space. And I dining room table. And a sofa bed for visitors. And big windows.

By the time I made it to bed it was late and I was exhausted. I set the alarm for seven. For my first day at work.