Moving

We are not moving.

For the past 11 months, I've salivated at the thought of moving -- not to a new town (we like this one just fine, thanks, and besides, it's still new and shiny and ridiculously, fabulously progressive, what with moving here from Alabama), or to a new state (we would miss the cheese and beer), but to a new apartment.

This one's fine, mind you. It meets our basic needs. It's even got nice little extras like hardwood floors and built-in bookcases. But it's oh-so-small. And kind of dumpy. And completely impossible to keep clean, considering the fact the walls are insulated with cobwebs and the basement is a breeding ground for god knows what.

When I am bored or in need of a quick procrastination fix, I wander over to the classifieds and devour the apartment listings. And last month, when we realized we'd soon need to give 30-days' notice, I started looking in earnest. But then.

Then we realized it made no sense to move. Any way you look at it. It just doesn't. We love our 'hood, and we're nonprofit-poor, and there's no way we're finding a pseudo-two-bedroom in the same zip code for close to the same price (did I mention the foundation's crumbling?).

And so I'm letting go of the daydream. Last night we devised a redecorating plan to squeeze some semblance of a dining area into the living room, so we don't spend the next year continuing to balance dinner plates on our laps. That's how low my standards have fallen. All I need is a table to eat at, and I'm happy.

But tonight, while walking the dog, we passed a couple of "for rent" signs.

"Should I take down the number?" I asked JK. "Just to cover our bases?"

I obviously am having a hard time letting go.

Last weekend we visited my brother and sister-in-law in Phoenix and stayed in their lovely, relatively expansive home that boasts not one, but two dining areas. My brother converted the third bedroom into a home movie theatre, complete with a projector, huge screen mounted to the wall, and two rows of movie theatre seats he found on Craigslist.

My radical-leaning sister-in-law lamented the fact that she didn't feel comfortable hosting CopWatch meetings or anarchist reading groups in their living room.

"I almost need to hide where I live," she said. "A home theatre is so not anti-establishment."

And so I find my silver lining. The feminist radio collective will feel right at home here. Of this, I am positive.