getting moving

Today was my last proper day in my present apartment. I'm lying in bed, it's dark, and everything feels as it should. Were I to switch on the lights, however, the situation would look different. Boxes are scattered about, shelves have come off walls, and closets are empty. I have started to move out.

A few days ago, I picked up the key to the new apartment, but I'm only paying rent from Monday, the same day that I have to hand over the key to my current place. This good timing didn't originate in my new landlord's generosity. Rather, I had complained about the soiled carpets and requested a deep cleaning. I had got five days' free rent instead. Financially, that was good deal, but it brought with it the potential that I would hate my new place from the beginning, hate it with the bitter passion that I reserve for grime and dirt.

To be honest, I wasn't sure how dirty the carpet really was. I remember it struck me during the viewing, and I made a mental note to petition for cleaning. For fear of confirming my early devastating assessment, I've been reluctant to reenter my new apartment, but today I couldn't put it off any longer. After all, I needed to get going with the move. There are only two days left.

This afternoon then, after a rather short day at work – everyone is in Christmas mode already and doesn't think of working – I walked over to my new apartment for another quick look. On the way, I saw an equipment rental place and it hit me that, instead of resigning myself to the situation, I could just clean the carpets while the flat was still empty.

Reserving an industrial carpet cleaner for a few hours tomorrow lifted my spirits substantially. Now I really couldn't wait to get to my new place and take it in, without a hurried agent breathing down my neck. I unlocked the door next to a mobile phone shop, strode down an endless hallway to the rear of the building, took the stairs up to the second floor, and was momentarily confused.

How many floors does a seven-story building have? It depends on where you are. In the US, it would have seven floors, as it should. In Britain, the building would only rise to the sixth floor, as the ground floor and the first floor are two different levels. I live in Britain, but (attempt to) write American English. I will live right above the ground floor. Is that clear?

I turned the key in my door, opened it and entered another endless hallway, parallel to the one below but pointing, from my very subjective point of view, in the opposite direction. The hallway, covered with blue carpet, led to a living room, also covered with blue carpet. I looked left, I looked right; I was baffled and relieved.

The carpet didn't look nearly as bad as I had remembered. It was in need of a thorough shampooing, but there was nothing, no spots or major stains, that would resist the effort and make the flat painful to inhabit. In fact, I was already moving in mentally. The speakers would go into the two corners left and right of the big white wall that would serve as a projection screen, the bookshelf into a third, the dining table into the last. The beds needs rotating and the kitchen rearranging. The move has officially started.