Cardboard boxes.

So. Did I say we've found a new house? It's big and spacious. It's warm and clean. It has rooms enough and more, and a large kitchen and two cookers, and a decent sized garden, and an attic floor specially for myself and my sister with blue carpets and skylights and a lilac spiral staircase leading to it and loft cubbyholes for our secrets and a view over the roofs. It has already installed surround sound in the den, and an oversized watertight garage. It has a study and a living room especially for the parents. It has no character. It's gorgeous, but it is not home.

Home right now is... a mess. Cardboard boxes stand stacked on top of each other in the corners of rooms (esp mine). Clothes and junk are strewn all over the place, or else placed in piles of importance. There's a list of "Things to do" on the kitchen side, but is it all crossed off? No. One solitary line obscures a single item, and that is all.

So. Did I say we're moving in in two weeks? To look around this house, you wouldn't believe it. But that doesn't really bother me. The longer things stay as they are here, the longer I can pretend that all of this... isn't really happening.