...'cos I got issues with my sleep...(The Wombats).
Or I did, anyway. The sleep issues are getting better. Jet lag is fading and normal hours are resuming. Was very glad to manage to stay up till the highly reasonable hour of 10 last night, and to wake up at 6:45 this morning, not pinging awake bright and early because my body thought it was nearly midday, but waking in a slow, resentful, craving-more-sleep manner due to H1 waking beside me. He's not jetlagged at all. He just wakes up that early - usually even earlier, actually - because he is a strange, strange man.
So five days in and well...all is going well. Not a lot to report. We've been very busy, throwing ourselves into the vibrant city life, making the most of being young in New York, venturing around town and partying on until 9pm, when we fall asleep wherever we happen to be. H1 is working a lot, already, because that is the type of person he is. I have been mainly concentrating on finding us a home, because that is the person I am. The type who likes a roof over her head. A place to call my own. Land is the most important thing, and when I've found my Tara, I'll...
Sorry, another Scarlett O'Hara moment. They occur fairly regularly, but I may have to reduce that frequency here in New York, a city in America where real Southerners visit and sometimes even live. They look at me in alarm when I use my Scarlett O'Hara voice, and more often than not gently enquire whether I'm ok.
So yes, a place of our own, that's not Tara. Important. This corporate apartment is fine, but you know, corporate. A little soul-less. And alarmingly big, with very little furniture. H1 and I rattle around in it, feeling guilty if we leave papers lying on the table and startling each other when we walk into a room. We're not used to so much space. It unsettles us and makes us edgy.
It's also only ours until the beginning of August, which is a relief because of the aforementioned size issue and the kitchen, which is a good size in a horrible location on the wrong side of the apartment, totally isolated and dark. It is not designed for cooking. It positively sneers at cooking. Cooking in there makes you feel like you've been sent to prison. And there is very little to cook with, so we are hoping that the short term lease ends before one of us ends up throwing a plate against a wall, shouting, 'Not bloody pasta, again!' We're not big on shouting. Also, it would halve our supply of plates.
We may have found a place - we are hopeful that we have - but I refuse to say any more in case I jinx it. I'm not usually superstitious, but if anything's going to make one superstitious, it's the Manhattan rental market. Suffice to say I like it a lot, probably more now that I know someone else has their beady, greedy eyes on it. I don't wish harm on strangers...but. I want it. So I hope they find another place that they want more. Or that they are in a minor accident, not hurt at all, but end up losing their short term memory. Something, anything, whatever the powers that be see fit.
Anyway, it's nearly 9:30, and my body knows it. Head is nodding, eyes keep closing, 'z's are issuing from my mouth in a comic script. More on New York shortly (actual New York, not my apartment. I don't even have an apartment yet, and already I'm spending all my time there, if only in my head. Cause for concern?) Night night.