When I was finally, finally back in my apartment, I sort of flitted around touching things. My friend asked me if I was anxious, or stressed - but I wasn't really. I just wanted to commune with my stuff - run my fingers along the spines on the bookshelf, examine the contents of my freezer. I wanted to just run around my apartment, obsessively opening and closing drawers.
It's so nice to have the comforts of home again. To sleep in my bed, to shower in my own bathroom (with access to all of my products!) To walk around in a state of undress (this is a major benefit to living alone, in my opinion.)
I've been enjoying other things, too: getting ice in my drink, driving (and being on the road without total, abject fear of death), talking to friends, and best of all - doing absolutely nothing.