FUCK YES. PIRATED WIRELESS IN NEW-OLD HOUSE IS A GO. BITE ME, EIRCOM. YOU SHALL NOT KEEP ME FROM MY INTERNETS.

Most of the ground floor is either already finished, or in the process of being finished. New couches are being carried in as I type, we are waiting for curtains for the front room, etc. And... it is gorgeous, but also... terrifying, in a pristine designer house kind of way. All this cream leather! And pale-coloured fabric! And brocade! And glass! We have a chaise-longue. And freaking CHANDELIERS, guys. Small ones, but - CHANDELIERS. I am afraid to touch anything, omg.

Meanwhile, my own room is covered in boxes, and my stuff from rent-a-house hasn't even come over yet. So it will probably take me at least another week or something to get everything unpacked, all my decorations up, etc. But I promise pictures when I am done!

So anyway, I am here perched nervously on the edge of the silvery-cream velvety chaise-longue, waiting for some guy to come and assemble some table, so I can pay him. Who knows how long I will be here. I am a demanding wench, I know, having asked this just yesterday, but - entertain me?

Dead. Seriously at that stage where if I look at another box, I will sit down in the middle of the floor and cry. Bed so full of stuff - with nowhere else to put stuff - that I am just making a nest of blankets and pillows and sleeping bags and sleeping on the 2m² of non-box-occupied space left on my bedroom floor. Still: home. HOME. Four months, almost to the day. I got the biggest kick in the world, getting off the bus (on way back from meeting in uni) and turning left instead of right. Okay, having a celebratory nip of the last of my absinthe, left here for safekeeping, and then passing right the hell out.