The act of it, the process of it and the fact that I realize how much shit we have and how much stuff we need comes into play.
I am cranky. Just a bit. We have not had a home-cooked meal in over a week. And until we get a chance to cook in the place on a regular basis it will not feel like home. No, reheating crap in the micorwave does not count. The act of setting up a space for food preparation and actually cooking it is what makes a house a home.
We also decided that we would get rid of the couch and love seat that was kindly donated to me after my divorce (thanks Ethan but it was not as comfortable as it looked.)
We are in the market for a sectional. Either that or I am going to build one. I figure that all I need would be some milk crates and 2 x 4 boards...