Watching: Moulin Rouge on my glorious new 28-inch television, a housewarming gift (one of many, actually) from my father. However, my downstairs neighbor came up the other day and told me my television was too loud, so now I'm all paranoid about the volume. It sucks because one of my biggest pet peeves is straining to hear the television, so I always have it on kind of loud-ish. Reading: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Since it doesn't appear as though HP5 is going to be released in my lifetime, I'm re-reading the other four. Listening: Room for Squares by John Mayer. I am obsessed with this album like I have not been obsessed with an album since Angels & Cigarettes. I love every song on it. How often does that happen? Wishing: A happy 31st birthday to Elise. (Elise, I didn't send you a card, but look, I'm re-starting my journal in honor of your birthday! That's just as good, right?) Note to the Guy Who Used to Live Here: You need to start sending your child support directly to your ex-wife instead of to the Division of Child Support Enforcement. (The guy who used to live here has apparently failed to forward his mail, so I will occasionally update him on the status of his life. Obviously, I'm not going to actually open his mail. The notice about his child support happened to be taped on my door when I got home from the store this afternoon, no envelope or anything.)

So, here I am.

In true Elizabeth fashion, I am back, but not all the way back. Not all the links work, and the entry layout is the same one I've been using since, well, the last millennium.

But I'm telling myself that it's the words that count, and not the bells and whistles.

I love rationalization.

Slowly, I'm settling in. I'm horrible at unpacking. I'm trying to go box by box, but the problem is that I'll unpack one thing and decide that there's something else I have to unpack before I can decide where the first thing should go. I'm half tempted to simply empty every single box to force myself to put it all away, but what sounds helpful in theory doesn't always end up well in practice.

However, if I may be quite honest, I must say that my apartment is the shit. Due to an embarrassing lack of a digital camera (it's about fifth on the List of Things I Must Buy Once I Get A Job), I won't have pictures up for a while, and sadly, it's too complicated to describe the layout in any great detail.

But in general, there is a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen on the first floor, and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor. It has hardwood floors throughout except for some carpet on the stairs. The kitchen is small, though adequate, and it has a brand new refrigerator and microwave. (I know this sounds retarded, but I'm really impressed with the microwave. It's the coolest microwave.) The bathroom is the smallest bathroom in the world, but my bedroom is pretty big, and the guest bedroom is a good size. Plenty of closet space, plenty of windows, a few good nooks and crannies.

The best part about it, though, is the neighborhood. It's positively gorgeous. When you look out the living room windows, all you can see are trees, and that isn't an exaggeration. This development is nothing if not nestled, and I love nestled.

Okay, I lied up there. The best part is not the neighborhood itself. The best part is the proximity of the neighborhood to my favorite people. I can be at Michelle's house in less than ten minutes, and I'm probably twenty minutes to Dana's in the District (if I can ever actually get there without getting lost). I'm just over two hours from my parents. And this past weekend, instead of spending two hours just getting to an airport and getting ready to get on a plane, I got in my car and arrived in two hours to attend Melissa's wedding.

Ask me how certain I am that I made the right decision.

So, I've moved. And I am happy.

Part of me does feel like I have closed a circle. I have returned to the city of my birth. To the city where I graduated high school. On the list of important days in a person's life, those two rank pretty high.

I am happy to be here, but I am not ready to say I have come home. (I think that might just be what I have done, but I'm not ready to say it, you know?)

One thing I have come to understand is that "home" is a simple word connotating a very tricky concept. I learned first-hand that "home" is not necessarily where one grew up, and although I always refer to going to my parents' house as going "home," it's not like I've actually lived in that particular house.

I'm realizing that home might not be as much about location as I previously thought. I can tell it's something much more complicated, but I haven't quite figured it out yet.

I'll keep you posted.