Does this mean I'm a grown up now?

Today finally the apartment I had my eye on became mine. I had thought the actual event would have been filled with sombre people in black suits, suitably serious atmosphere and more, you know, ceremonies. Like the bank demanding I'd have to sign my soul over to them in blood. I didn't expect a light, airy room with a fashionable Marimekko tablecloth, a bowl full of apples and no more to do than to sign a few papers and then pocketing the keys.

Everything's been happening so quickly that I have been suffering a some kind of post-purchase depression. I can't shake the feeling that

a) There's something terribly wrong with the apartment, and I keep imagining the seller and the real eastate broker now opening bottles of champagne, lighting expensive cigars and chuckling the word "sucker!" not believing their luck,

b) Even if there wasn't anything wrong (or that I could fix whatever it was), if I ever wanted to sell the bloody place, no one would want to touch it,

c) It's going to suck each and every cent I'll ever earn as long as I live,

or d) my parents, who live near by, will lose all their understanding in what is my life/home/territory and what is theirs.

Plus, all the furniture I currently own are a bookshelf and a bed. It'll be ages before I can call anyone over and who knows, they might completely forget my very existance during the time I'm trying to hunt down a sofa.

In any case, I now own an apartment. I can't say that I'd feel any more grown up than before.