Nothing to report except that I have nothing to report. All of my time and energy for the last six weeks or so has been completely consumed with finding a house. Our lease is up in mid-July and Will and I are both tired of being cramped. We've had good times in this apartment, and I think it's still the cutest apartment I've ever seen, but it's still. an. apartment. We're piled on top of each other in the office, and we're still sleeping on just a mattress and box spring because our bedroom is so small there's not really any room for both our dressers and a large bed frame. Not to mention it would be nice to be able to use the dining room table again to eat on instead of its current function as a pig pedestal. This morning we signed offer letter papers for the fourth time. Our realtor has been an absolute doll and we couldn't be more pleased with her, but time is wearing on and I just want to find and claim my home.
I'm having fun scouring craigslist for furniture, but it's hard to envision what I'll buy since I don't know where we'll be living yet. If we get the house we offered for, I'm going to use the formal dining room as my workroom/library. I spotted the cutest contemporary chaise. I'm dreaming of lying there like Lady Bountiful surrounded by my books, sewing projects, and piano. I know that's truly the impractical dream of a childless woman, but if Will gets his office space, why shouldn't I have my library? It'll all go out the window eventually, of course. But for the meantime, I can't interpret every tummyache as a sign of pregnancy. That's a quick and easy way to go completely nuts, especially since we're taking a laissez-faire approach to getting me knocked up.
So we're supposed to hear by Sunday evening whether our offer was accepted. I think our realtor wants to wrap this up as badly as we do. She's acting very determined lately. Something to pray about.