Belated Farewells To A Home

After eight and a half years at my cozy little apartment, the bf and I moved out together to a place more than twice the size of the old place and all the modern amenities. It all happened quickly and in the end it was easier and harder than I thought it would be to move on. It's been nearly 2 months and as with my new years resolutions and all other plans, I'm finally getting around to saying goodbye and acknowledging how important that place meant to me.

I grew up as an adult there. I learned to truly be by myself - alone on weekends, killing bugs I hated, and more aware for my own safety and well-being. I fell in love there, then got my heart broken. I dated guys I probably shouldn't have and had them stay over just because I could. Though it was small, I hosted all sorts of friends there, from overnight visits on my inflatable aerobed to huge parties of over fifty people crammed into the shared backyard space - back when we were all younger and poorer and no one minded sleeping on the floor atop an inflatable mattress or cramped around a firepit in the backyard for a party.

I switched decades somewhat gracefully there and traversed over a dozen countries, all the while knowing that that little apartment would always be the home base I'd come back to. I wrapped up job #1 and job #2 while living there - the only 2 permanent jobs I ever had since I finished college. I made some wonderful friends during my time there, and lost friends I thought would be around for a lifetime.

I met the bf while living there - my first serious relationship. And man did we have fights there. And tears. And kisses. And happiness and incredulousness when he decided to move in to the tiny abode barely enough for one person and a cat. Then more tears when we found out I had cancer.

I managed to cram a lot of stuff into a place with barely any storage space. I slowly shed most of the hand me down furniture piece by piece as I rearranged and refurnished the place several times. I learned to (somewhat) live within my means and accepted that this old place would never completely feel clean to my mother's or my own standards. As the years went by, I'm not sure when it happened, but I started calling it "home" instead of "the apartment" while my parent's home became "my parent's house" instead of "home." It served me well and I won't forget it. I'll miss the cheap rent and rent control, but I won't miss the lack of AC, washer and dryer, and space!

Twas the Week Before Christmas...

And Whatchamacalit is all stressed out...
There are cards to write
and unwrapped presents strewn about.

Dinners were planned for the rest of the week
Dear friends to see and year end goals to meet!

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It's been busy. A good busy. But I do miss writing (thus the silly poem) and exercise and the routines of the rest of the year. December is special. The whole month is about the holidays and how many friends and loved ones you can cram in to see and gift before the year ends. Did I mention it's also about gluttony? Gluttony with food and money and gifts. It's almost shameful.

Work has become an annoyance, something that gets in the way of my holiday month. I want to smack my boss upside the head when he wastes my time with inane questions because he doesn't read emails clearly or think before speaking.

I want to sit at home, wrap gifts, sip tea, and watch movies. I want to sleep in, brunch with friends, catch up on years worth of letters, emails, and books. Most of all, I want to be with my family, stuff gifts under the Christmas tree, and sit around in flannel pajamas staring at the lights of the tree until I fall asleep.

I Hear You

I can hear your voice.
I try to drown you out with music, but I can hear you talk.
I look away but I can hear you smiling with other people.
I concentrate on my reading, but I can hear you being friendly and normal to everyone else.
I wonder if you'll ever be kind to me again, because I can still hear the warmth and laughter in your voice towards everyone but me.