Moving On
I am surrounded by a gajillion moving boxes and clutter everywhere. And this is after a whole week's worth of "fixing" when I get home from work. Today would be my first full day fixing my stuff in my new place, and here's hoping I make bigger strides with that this weekend.
Last Friday, I took the day off from work to pack up my old place. Saturday, the movers came and moved my stuff to my new place. Sunday, I went back to the old place and scrubbed the place clean from top to bottom while R steam-vacuumed the carpet.
I was too exhausted to be emotional, but when I went back one last time and made sure my storage locker was empty, my mailbox was empty and my entire apartment was spotless, I started seeing ghosts of myself everywhere. That one-bedroom apartment built on the grounds of a former cemetery was where I lived for almost three years. I was happy there. I was miserable there. I was sick, healthy, injured and well there. I studied there. Was frustrated there. Laughed, cried, felt numb there.
The past "almost three years" have been a roller coaster ride. When I first found my apartment advertised on Craigslist, my heart broke. People kept telling me that I'm moving to a much nicer place, and that I shouldn't be sad. And now it's somebody else's apartment, and I've moved on. But I dreamed so many dreams there, fell in love there, wished, hoped, and little by little, achieved my goals in that apartment.
I lived there. I loved there. I cried there. I laughed there.
Ghosts of myself haunted me.
And when I left the keys on the counter, locked the door behind me, drove my car out of the garage and locked the garage for the last time, I cried a little. I was leaving home again. But it was no longer mine.
I have a new home now. With ten million moving boxes. And my own dishwasher. And washer/dryer. And a doorman. And a pool. And a gym. And a wicked awesome sauna.
I think I'll start making my memories here from now on.
If only I can clear out the boxes soon.
Last Friday, I took the day off from work to pack up my old place. Saturday, the movers came and moved my stuff to my new place. Sunday, I went back to the old place and scrubbed the place clean from top to bottom while R steam-vacuumed the carpet.
I was too exhausted to be emotional, but when I went back one last time and made sure my storage locker was empty, my mailbox was empty and my entire apartment was spotless, I started seeing ghosts of myself everywhere. That one-bedroom apartment built on the grounds of a former cemetery was where I lived for almost three years. I was happy there. I was miserable there. I was sick, healthy, injured and well there. I studied there. Was frustrated there. Laughed, cried, felt numb there.
The past "almost three years" have been a roller coaster ride. When I first found my apartment advertised on Craigslist, my heart broke. People kept telling me that I'm moving to a much nicer place, and that I shouldn't be sad. And now it's somebody else's apartment, and I've moved on. But I dreamed so many dreams there, fell in love there, wished, hoped, and little by little, achieved my goals in that apartment.
I lived there. I loved there. I cried there. I laughed there.
Ghosts of myself haunted me.
And when I left the keys on the counter, locked the door behind me, drove my car out of the garage and locked the garage for the last time, I cried a little. I was leaving home again. But it was no longer mine.
I have a new home now. With ten million moving boxes. And my own dishwasher. And washer/dryer. And a doorman. And a pool. And a gym. And a wicked awesome sauna.
I think I'll start making my memories here from now on.
If only I can clear out the boxes soon.