Dear future hubster,
sometimes I notice I fall back into the same pattern: I'm looking out for kitchen stuff (currently tiny bowls for soy sauce and slightly bigger ones for snacks and apéro), I am thinking of redecorating my living space, I fix the loose hems and sew pression buttons on all my shirts as boob situation so requires, I actually consider buying larger items for when I grow up I have my own place.
The romantic midle-class lingo calls it nesting; in reality, I'm just trying to make a home.
And it is a rather scary feeling. To the point that it is often accompanied, and sometimes replaced by the urge to run away.
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