Domestic bliss?

I haven't decided what to call the new place yet.

For those interested, I'm living in a single bedroom apartment in a small complex in Phoenix. I have four rooms: the kitchen is tiny and I have a walk in closet that is nearly as big, so I count them as half a room each.

It looks a bit like the picture above. In fact, that's my sofa.

I have, of course already altered it. That arm chair? Right to the table where the PC is currently located. The complex has wifi, so that's what's connecting me to this. The kitchen is to the left, and the bed (which offers superior corrective massage when I'm out) you can just see to the right.

In a fit of domestic pride, I cleaned the oven when I got home from work today. This is partly me being house proud and partly me not wanting a colossal cleaning bill when I move out.

In the meantime, between worrying vaguely about laundry and sorting out all the tedious ephemera of changing addresses, I am attempting to write. It's not easy. The laundry, while not pressing, weighs on my mind. And to be perfectly honest, the bed is like sleeping on sticks wrapped around granite, so I could do with a kip. Perhaps the couch?