I awoke from my sleep and immediately wished I hadn't. Every ... single ... muscle ... hurt. I'm sure my wife's twisted foot doesn't feel very good either, but oh wow am I sore. Muscle groups I didn't even know I had were stiff and sore. Just getting dressed was painful. Even my fingers were swollen and red from all the lifting, pulling, and pushing they were doing.

We had to get my wife's glasses repaired (they got scratched yesterday, either from her fall, or shortly before that), and the con artists at LensCrafters were happy to oblige once I paid half the original cost of the lenses. Oh, that was after she'd told us it'd be $50, then changed her mind ("Oh, darn, that changed, sorry"). While we waited for the lenses to be re-made (why can't they ever just repair the damned things?), we wandered slowly around in the mall. She hobbled more than walked, understandable given the huge black and blue bruise on her foot. After an hour, we headed back and picked up her new lenses. There goes $89 we didn't have.

We came back home, had some dinner, and she rested while I tried dragging in the rest of the stuff from Saturday's big truck haul. I got everything inside and in place, except the clothes washer. I just didn't have the strength to lift it up the stairs, even with the appliance dolly. Just couldn't do it. My fingers hurt too much to keep a good grip, and my arms were too sore to put enough power into the work to actually get the machine off the ground. Now it's sitting in the kitchen, until I can figure out a way to get it up there myself, or find someone (or even two people) to help.

My wife went to bed before I did, and without even thinking we began the first real test of the benefits of owning a big house versus living in a rented, tiny apartment. In the apartment, she complained that she could never sleep when I stayed up, because she would always be able to hear me, or she'd get scared being alone in the bedroom.

Well, tonight, she was in bed a full two hours before she got back up and demanded I go to bed (sadly, not for sex, just sleep -- she's never that rewarding). No mention of hearing me, or of being scared. I guess she just decided it was time for me to go to bed. I still fucking hate that. But at least she didn't hear anything to wake her up. That is good news.

It finally sunk into my head tonight though that this is a real house, not just a dream. As I sit here in the living room, my wife upstairs in bed and the cats finally sleeping (they love this place; they tear around, run up and down the stairs, chase each other, sniff everything, and seemingly never sleep), I'm finally getting a good idea of just how quiet and peaceful this place is.

It's completely silent. There's no sounds at all. No neighbors banging on shared walls. No cars driving by with monstrous subwoofers booming the newest (c)rap (er, I mean, the latest angry white boy "music") at everyone. No footsteps above. No construction sounds outside, since it's 2:00am. It's not scary or "weird" here either. It just feels ... "right". In the apartment, I frequently got a bit "creeped out" in the apartment; dark corners, strange noises (made by other people), and so on. I don't feel any of that here. I'm not afraid to walk into the two guest bedrooms where we haven't put in any lamps yet (since we're not using the rooms yet). Random noises don't happen, mostly because there's nothing to cause them.

The air conditioner turned on just a second ago, and I realized that's the loudest it's ever going to get in this house at night. Note the A/C is pretty quiet, too. It's so nice and comfortable here.