Time for Curtains

Moving to a new place is always expensive. Not only do you have to pay some burly men to come and cart your worldly possessions away in a van, but you also find that there are suddenly so many new things you need. Like lamps or – at the very least – new lampshades because there are suddenly many more bare bulbs dangling down from the ceiling. Curtains are the worst. Not usually something that transfers easily from one window to another. So far we’ve managed without them in the living room. Since we’re on the first floor (second floor if you’re an American), it’s not like people can walk past and peak at us in our pyjamas. Since its a new development, we haven’t really had neighbours who could look down on us from the second or third floors from across the way.

Until tonight.


Now there is suddenly a very bright light (think hospital operating room bright) coming from the apartment on the second floor across the way. There’s a large gentleman in the window and, unfortunately, his window is right next to the street light. You know how your eye is automatically drawn to something when you look out the window? Well, mine is drawn to that street light. Now he’ll think I keep staring at him with a wistful expression. I really hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea, but the light from the street lamp captures the snowflakes as they gently fall to the ground. And I do so love watching the snow, writing by the light of the falling flakes. Damn, looked at it again.

I’m going to have to bite the bullet now and get curtains. Maybe we should go to IKEA. It has been almost a week since we were there last, I’ll get withdrawal symptoms.

Otherwise I feel far to self-conscious to sit here writing in my pyjamas, fuzzy pink robe and mad hair on Saturday mornings.

crazy writer

Then I’ll have to find another window to watch the snow from.

Speaking of which, what happened to the window cleaning service we were promised when we moved in? Probably went the same way as the wonderful heating system that still can’t climb about 19C. It’s no wonder I sit here in my robe.

Author: Eva O'Reilly

Writer, avid reader, large dog lover, cake baker and Francophile. Living in hope of finding either a literary agent or a large audience on Amazon.

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