Some day, I am going to elevate this blog to an art form that is higher than endless bitching. Today is not going to be that day.
One month post-move, all of the little quirks of this apartment are slowly revealing themselves to me. The carpet, for instance, is super thin and kind of shitty, being as this is technically a handicap-accessible unit. (Side note: hardwood floors? would? be so much nicer? And also handicap friendly??) The most charming part of its existence, however, isn’t the texture, it’s the peppering of cigarette burns across the surface. Clearly, the previous tenant was a smoker (thanks for using ashtrays, friend). Anyway, I’ve been scoping out area rugs to cover the cigarette freckles. Why are rugs so expensive? Like, I walk on them. With my feet. How fancy do they have to be?
Some further thoughts on the week:
That’s all I got. I’m tired from working for negative money. Goodnight, moon.
I think this is the first time in two weeks I’ve been able to just… be. I’m emotionally and physically drained. Moving is hard work.
This is the first time I’ve really felt settled in the new place. The last week has been a state of constant change, with the moving process, buying new furniture, and unpacking all the boxes. The entire thing was much more difficult than I was expecting. Packing all of your stuff up is a strange process that yields some emotions, especially if you’ve never done it before. There’s something about seeing a lifetime’s worth of stuff stacked in boxes for the first time, then turning and seeing the shelves of your bedroom empty and alone. They haven’t been empty in thirteen years. It’s bittersweet, leaving. Especially for the first time. But if you want to keep moving forward in life, you have to keep moving forward.
I also finished my first rotation on Friday, which only complicates the mess of the past week. I’ve been juggling final presentations and projects while trying to set up a new home, and it hasn’t been easy. I didn’t stop moving until 11 or 12 at night most of the week.
It’s strange and it’s satisfying. Everything is happening so fast that I don’t even know if I know how to process it all. I guess that’s why I’m writing stuff down again, though. To process. I don’t even know if I’m coherent. At the end of it all, though, I think I can say that I’m one thing for sure.