New Year

So far, I've spent the majority of January procrastinating the packing of the printshop for our move at the end of the month. I officially have the keys to the new studio in hand, and re-enacting a scene from some feel-good movie somewhere, I recently bought myself an overpriced cupcake & latte, broke in and sat in the middle of the empty wood floor to fantasize about being included in one of those commercials in which they list enormous businesses that ironically "started in a garage." (Except that I don't want to be an enormous business, and I technically started in a shed, not a garage. So my dreams are crushed before they begin). Also, the fantasizing was at least half sugar-induced panic attack over my new rent-paying responsibilities, so really it wasn't very well done. Slowly planning a list of things one needs when working outside of her home: This seems intuitive, but I'm surprising myself daily with unimportant items that I can't believe I might have done without for the first month (Hand towel in the bathroom!? OF COURSE!!! A sponge to do my dishes, because now I have to pack a lunch!!??? CRAP! I will also need dish soap!!) Completely ignoring the more challenging issues of "where shall I get waterproof linoleum to put under the washout booth so as not to destroy the beautiful wood flooring?" or "how the %$&# are we going to get the tshirt press out of the basement?" it's not that I won't eventually address these things... I'm sure I will. But sitting in a room full of only sunlight and a thin layer of dust, it is the thought of choosing paint colors for the bathroom door, choosing hand soap flavors, and picking curtains for the two big beautiful long awaited windows (the first time in 8 years I've had them) that make me want to get up early for work. It's not nesting, exactly. More like playing house... and I'm finding that nothing will make you feel more like a child than addressing a move out of the playhouse in the garage from whence you came.