What Makes a Home.

All of my possessions were packed up in mid-September and sent on their merry way, I thought, by slow boat to Canada. However, for whatever reason, the moving company we paid more than enough money to transport things hasn't even bothered to put them on a boat yet, which I found out when I called Friday morning to check on their status, as they should be arriving any day. I was upset, but also unsettled. I want my things. I'm home now, I want to feel at home. I want my books, I want my pictures on the wall. I want my SHOES!

Anyway, I sulked for most of the weekend about it. It stresses me out to no end, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Tonight I had a couple of girlfriends over for dinner and Gossip Girl after we finished work. I baked a veggie lasagna. We scarfed homemade Caesar salad while commenting bitchily on all of the questionable wardrobe choices on the show, mainly wondering aloud why Serena was working in a senator's office looking like a ho. We watched Currie play soccer with her kitty-ball. We put on Justin Timberlake and danced around. We drank wine out of jars. We talked about boys while I puttered in the kitchen. After the girls left, and I had finished loading the dishwasher, I realized, what else do I need? I am home and at home, whether that stuff makes it across the Atlantic or not.