IKEA, Netflicks, Cycling, Sushi...

So is it moving up or moving farther away when your life consists of constants never before considered? I'm torn on how to view our move to the downtown "metro" Saint Petersburg area. It is more convenient to be able to walk to the movies, gelato stand, bay, beach, dog parks (there are numerous), pier, and various bits of edible culture, but the three-story window unit walk-up even with all its charm and unexpected space is still a THREE-STORY WALK-UP, sans central air and heating. Just saying. And have I mentioned we have two dogs? Well, we do. 

Adorable as they may be (and there is no bias in that statement), they are two very distinctive "special" neurotic dogs: Emma needs to be the center of attention and refuses to be left behind; King must be walked at least 3 times a day and has no problem harassing you until you meet his 80 year-old bladder's needs. If you are reading this and saying to yourself "so what?" then I haven't created the most accurate picture of the before and after. Before our big, exciting, much anticipated move, all I EVER had to do was open up the door and wait for Emma to scratch the door for re-entrance. Now, we have to find the leases, get the dogs to sit still for 2 minutes, which always takes 5 minutes, then coordinate taking them down the stairs, as to not create the unnecessary and quite frankly, annoying, click-clack, click-clack of their well-groomed but still noisy paw nails. After our move we have to surreptitiously and strategically plan any outdoor activities that will involve the going down and eventually back up the steps.

I enjoy the instant access to culture and cuisine. And who can complain about being walking distance to practically everything with gas prices at the mercy of Libya ($3.49 and rising, last time I checked)? I guess I have more in common with our founding fathers than I thought, I, too, greatly value land...owning land, living on an abundance of land, being surrounded by land. I grew up on 80+ acres of land and have always coveted and dreamed of calling a quaint little piece of land my own front and backyard. I do into account that I am fresh out of law school, which is to say that I am up-to-my-ears in law school loans debt (a tangent I won't get on at this time, but can't promise not to bring up when my first payment becomes due), seeking Bar passage and admittance, and then the ever disappointing first legal job, so therefore I am not a prime candidate for any kind of mortgage rate (if any) worth mentioning. However, at this moment, I can't help but think of Langston Hughes and his poem that ponders the consequences of a dream that is deferred. For those of you who do not know of "Dream Deferred" or Langston Hughes, SHAME ON YOU, seriously. See below for your literary lesson for the day, but I reiterate...SHAME ON YOU.

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over--

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load

Or does it explode? 

-Langston Hughes 

Makes you think, huh? For the time being, I am going to resign myself to looking for the positives in this new adventure and my new (dare I say?) home. If our spoiled dogs can adapt to it I guess I can manage. Not for nothing, the 3 flights of stairs are doing wonders for my calves and butt AND I LOVE LOVE LOVE our apartment decor, for the IKEA poster apartment that it has evolved into.