Settling

The following are reasons why I'm beginning to feel more settled in:

1. The kitchen is fully unpacked.

2. Our collection of 37 boxes is becoming our collection of broken-down boxes that we need to ask someone from Craigslist to spirit away.

3. I've assembled multiple pieces of Ikea furniture, with little insult or injury to myself, the furniture, or innocent bystanders.

4. We found a coffee table (on Craigslist, of course). Well, sort of. It actually is a bit too large, so I think we'll use it as a TV stand instead. But we needed one of those too, so it all works out. The best part was that we bought it from someone whose apartment was much funkier than ours, and not in an endearing way. Buying this table made me feel good about myself.

5. My job is great. Plus, they (my supervisors and the larger institution) keep giving me free meals. And I'm not talking Swanson HungryMan, either. Last week, there was a welcome lunch. The main course? Lobster. I am not joking. They also had steamed clams, salmon, and a fabulous vegetarian option, of which I readily partook (the veggie option, not the fish. I haven't been converted). I guess the lunch wasn't actually free to most people -- the lobster eaters, at least, had to pay -- but I wasn't charged anything. I didn't even have to show any ankle. And there was a raffle. Normally I don't win at raffles, but I won a travel coffee mug. I guess I gotta wash down all that free food with something. Yesterday, at another function, I also obtained a free lunch, made with local produce and other local goodies. Tomorrow, I'm told that there will also be food for me at a staff meeting. And next week, I hear that there might be some Pad Thai with my name on it. There is also a communal chocolate stash in the fridge at work. Hmm. Maybe I should just buy some larger clothes now so I have some room to grow.

And finally:

6. I've solved the mystery of the low ceilings in the Natick FunkHouse: It's actually not so much that the ceilings are low; it's that the floors are high. In the area of the apartment where the ceilings feel lower, the floor actually steps up, so we just stand closer to the ceiling. You know: The FunkHouse is not fat; it's just big-boned.