11/10
This past week was finals week in conjunction with moving from the Ethel Street house to a duplex on Mecaslin St. The move was about as easy as such things can be... new place being only 0.1 mile from the old, two weeks of overlap between the old lease ending and the new one beginning. Finals week was fairly trivial, with the only true final I had in CS being exempted. It was the move that was the bitch.
I ran over all the places I've lived in since 1999, when I moved back to Macon briefly after flunking out of Tech and then moved back to Atlanta that Fall (when I started working for the Big Movie Chain). This duplex on Mecaslin will be the 11th place I've lived in within 10 years. Granted, there are some people who have moved more than this, though I'm not interested in getting into a pissing contest on that front. There is always someone who can pull out the more difficult experience who will scoff at what you consider to be a trying time. Regardless, it doesn't change how I feel about it.
My feelings were mixed, and this was heightened by moving the last of my stuff out of the old house over the past few days while the landlord started cleaning up the front half of the house (an arrangement I made in exchange for a few days rent back). Problem areas of the house I had mentioned when we first moved in were finally fixed, in particular the light switch in my room. All year long, to turn on the light in my room, I had to stand on my bed and screw in the light bulb to turn on the light, then stand on the bed again and unscrew it slightly to turn it off. Sure, it's Home Park, but still. When I went back to start sorting my stuff in my room, the first thing I noticed on Wednesday was that in their first day of cleaning they had repaired the light switch.
Meanwhile, I watched as the front half of the house was transformed, being slowly cleaned and painted and scrubbed free from my presence, as well as that of my roommates. It was a strange feeling to watch it all be wiped away. It made me think of all the places I had lived, and all of the various memories I have of different buildings, and houses, and apartments, none of which I ever owned. Not that I want to return to them, yet it highlights the impermanence of my existence in some way.
I haven't lingered on these feelings long. For the most part, I remained packed in boxes for the last year, but I'm resolved to get my boxes unpacked at the new place and have an actual place to put everything so that I actually use the stuff I have, as well as get rid of the stuff I don't. Two carloads went to the dumpster, and one carload went to Goodwill during this move. I can't say I was merciless in my pruning of my wardrobe, but I did get rid of a few "sentimental" items. It was easier than I thought, particularly once the shirt disappeared into the bag. Once in the bag, it was gone.
I ran over all the places I've lived in since 1999, when I moved back to Macon briefly after flunking out of Tech and then moved back to Atlanta that Fall (when I started working for the Big Movie Chain). This duplex on Mecaslin will be the 11th place I've lived in within 10 years. Granted, there are some people who have moved more than this, though I'm not interested in getting into a pissing contest on that front. There is always someone who can pull out the more difficult experience who will scoff at what you consider to be a trying time. Regardless, it doesn't change how I feel about it.
My feelings were mixed, and this was heightened by moving the last of my stuff out of the old house over the past few days while the landlord started cleaning up the front half of the house (an arrangement I made in exchange for a few days rent back). Problem areas of the house I had mentioned when we first moved in were finally fixed, in particular the light switch in my room. All year long, to turn on the light in my room, I had to stand on my bed and screw in the light bulb to turn on the light, then stand on the bed again and unscrew it slightly to turn it off. Sure, it's Home Park, but still. When I went back to start sorting my stuff in my room, the first thing I noticed on Wednesday was that in their first day of cleaning they had repaired the light switch.
Meanwhile, I watched as the front half of the house was transformed, being slowly cleaned and painted and scrubbed free from my presence, as well as that of my roommates. It was a strange feeling to watch it all be wiped away. It made me think of all the places I had lived, and all of the various memories I have of different buildings, and houses, and apartments, none of which I ever owned. Not that I want to return to them, yet it highlights the impermanence of my existence in some way.
I haven't lingered on these feelings long. For the most part, I remained packed in boxes for the last year, but I'm resolved to get my boxes unpacked at the new place and have an actual place to put everything so that I actually use the stuff I have, as well as get rid of the stuff I don't. Two carloads went to the dumpster, and one carload went to Goodwill during this move. I can't say I was merciless in my pruning of my wardrobe, but I did get rid of a few "sentimental" items. It was easier than I thought, particularly once the shirt disappeared into the bag. Once in the bag, it was gone.