My first apartment. Also, unless toilet paper is made out of the skin of unicorns, it shouldn't be that fucking expensive.

The new year started off quite well with me, my cat Nietzsche and my boyfriend moving in together, and me moving out of my parents' attic. There's just nothing more relaxing and comfortable than waking up fully dressed after a New Years party with the hangover dripping from your ears and then having to move heavy boxes and an entire goddamn sofa whilst a hysterical kitten tries to maim your foot because you won't let him eat the curtains. The three of us have been living together for three days now, and I can't say that we are unaffected by the strains on a relationship that usually follows moving in together - "I love you but if you don't stop breathing so loud I will strangle you with your own intestines" have become something of a standard greeting for me, and how my poor boyfriend manages to persevere through my balanced cycle of crying, eating absurd amounts of chocolate and accusing him of things because he looked at me funny is beyond me. 

My grandmother always say "Let there be space in your togetherness", and she really has a point - no couple in the world would survive if they clung on to each other 24/7 for the rest of their lives. One problem with living together is that you can actually feel the romance leave your body with every fight regarding how best to store granola or who's time it is to clean the toilet, and romantic behavior transforms, from passionate kissing or bitch-slapping each other with roses or whatever ordinary people to to show their affection to one another, to thinking that leaving the crust on the evening sandwich is as exciting and raunchy as a threesome. 

Also, I treated myself to a dish brush. The glamour of moving into your first apartment is overwhelming.