Rule: It's not a home until you've cooked in it.
Got home late today after lots of organizing equipment shopping. Nothing tires you out more than thinking, "Oh god, how will I organize this?" then going to the store and thinking, "OH GOD, HOW WILL I ORGANIZE THIS???" Then stumbling home awkwardly with giant bags full of tubs? Containers of containers. How meta. I hope the Hipster Police don't come after me.
After having successfully not angered our crotchety neighbor with the outer door, I get home, set down the stuff, then begin work on the THREE TIER COLOSSAL POLE CADDY!!! ZOMG! (It's that thing that you wedge in the corner of your bath so that it holds soap and shit) Found out it was made for stand showers, had to remove a piece. Hope it still works! At this point, I'm super tired, so I go to the kitchen (we have gas! squee!) and make a giant thing of scrambled eggs.
Why? Because they're easy. Also, as some of my generous friends found out, me and the boy have a superfluity of eggs. I love farm-fresh eggs and will hoard them like there will be some egg-famine. As we moved, we discovered that we had about 9 eggs in the egg-cup unit that's attached to the fridge, and then another dozen in a carton. So we carefully wrapped up the egg babies in a box, to be hand-ferried by some friends, and other egg babies got incubated in my pockets. Fortunately, none of them had been scrambled before tonight.
I think my verb tenses are all over the place in that last post. Anyway. Hooray for cooking! Hooray for eggs!