The New Scene

I am sitting at the kitchen table of my new abode. The tile beneath my feet is cold and slightly damp in that way that everything is by the ocean. The house is a long ranch with a patio along the whole back that faces west and watches the sun set behind a hill of greenhouses every night. My room is newly painted white and I have just added a bookcase that I inherited with my job and which I spray painted white too (and not very well). The house is still and I hear only the gentle stream of traffic floating over the dry field and the occasional snort of Mochi, the house dog. He belongs to Rheanna, the roommate I'm replacing, but is staying on while she goes to Costa Rica. He doesn't speak Spanish.
My bed has not yet arrived. I finally found a helper to go get it with me tomorrow. Last night I slept on Jennie's sheepskin rug, piled onto a camping mat, covered with a few blankets. I am officially too old to sleep on the floor. Tonight Heather has offered her air mattress which I will gladly enjoy! What bliss it will be to a) sleep on a mattress and b) own said mattress! I have never in my adult life owned the bed I slept on.
I sense that despite all the change I've been through, more change is just around the corner. In the past week two well-loved pairs of pajama pants ripped down the front when I made apparently awkward stretches. I think they just wanted to be reborn as a quilt or something. They had both been around since the 90's.
Now Mochi is growling ominously at the window. If I disappear or am murdered, ask him about it. Only don't ask in Spanish.