making a move
for some reason, despite the fact that i'm desperate to leave this apartment and the memories that are lurking in every corner & behind every door, i'm having a terrible time moving out. i don' know if it's lack of motivation or mere procrastination, but it's taking me ages to get my shit together and out. i meant to be completely moved weeks ago, but i haven't even spent a night at the house yet. i think all i really need to do is force myself by getting all my clothes and my minibar of yuppie shampoos rounded up and out of here, stick my dog and cat in the back of the car and hope there's not too much bloodshed. the plan is to do it tomorrow morning. i think after that, tackling the bizarre remainder of my fridge and cupboards will seem like less of an ordeal--and just plain necessary. then, of course, the cleaning must commence. all i'm really nervous about is the carpeting. the new management tends to be pretty anal, so i'm crossing my fingers that the cigarette burns, puppy spots, and mystery stains holding on for dear life will not anger them enough to demand that i pay for the carpet to be replaced...because that would be really lame, and do a good number on my pocketbook.
what's odd to me is not the fact that it's taking so long, but how i have that butterflies-in-the-gut feeling about it. having moved so regularly throughout the past few years, i expected it to take quick and painless week, if that. but the pressure to leave is actually starting to nauseate me. it's like i'm in love with a good friend who there's no chance for romance with, and being unable to avoid saying anything about it--getting ready to finally pick up the phone and spout out my feelings in an overly-articulated speech that's waiting, written out in chicken-scratch penmanship, on a pad of yellow paper--kleenex ready and waiting by the phone to mop up the unavoidable rejection that's sure to come. i have no idea why.
here it is: things will surely be much easier there, correct? no rent to pay, more room to play, privacy and space and a big back yard full of fresh air..... better, right? i'm not so sure--what if i fuck up again? what if i'm still in debt--or, heaven help me, more in debt--come april, when i'm supposed to lease a new place with ryan? then what? complete and total confirmation of my failure to be self-sufficient, responsible, brilliant, whatever........ i once showed so much promise. everyone had such high expectations. and i can't even balance my checkbook.
so, by god, i will empty this place out tomorrow, and i'll never come back except to clean the blinds.
what's odd to me is not the fact that it's taking so long, but how i have that butterflies-in-the-gut feeling about it. having moved so regularly throughout the past few years, i expected it to take quick and painless week, if that. but the pressure to leave is actually starting to nauseate me. it's like i'm in love with a good friend who there's no chance for romance with, and being unable to avoid saying anything about it--getting ready to finally pick up the phone and spout out my feelings in an overly-articulated speech that's waiting, written out in chicken-scratch penmanship, on a pad of yellow paper--kleenex ready and waiting by the phone to mop up the unavoidable rejection that's sure to come. i have no idea why.
here it is: things will surely be much easier there, correct? no rent to pay, more room to play, privacy and space and a big back yard full of fresh air..... better, right? i'm not so sure--what if i fuck up again? what if i'm still in debt--or, heaven help me, more in debt--come april, when i'm supposed to lease a new place with ryan? then what? complete and total confirmation of my failure to be self-sufficient, responsible, brilliant, whatever........ i once showed so much promise. everyone had such high expectations. and i can't even balance my checkbook.
so, by god, i will empty this place out tomorrow, and i'll never come back except to clean the blinds.