I've been keeping a secret for quite a while. It's been hard to keep it to myself but October will be my last month in my apartment. My semi-Type A personality had been happier than a clam with all the lists I've been making.
|Side note... I wish I hadn't stopped watching this.|
The thing is... I'm moving.
And if I didn't admit that I feel a little like Carrie as she leaves her apartment for the last time, I might as well tell you that unicorns aren't real because I'd be lying.
I've lived in this apartment for four and a ½ years. I thought it was 5 years but I'm dumb and miscalculated. Either way this place has been home for a long time.
I've drunkenly stumbled up all 53 steps like a pro. I've left for dates, had people over, walked around nude, cried myself to sleep, and most importantly grew.
As I've begun to itemize my life, pack it up into boxes or purge in these past few weeks I'm feeling very bittersweet. From the day I first saw this place I knew it was perfect and was going to be mine. And it was.
It's funny how we get attached to things. Although there's nothing remarkable about my apartment, it's mine. My comfort, my quiet, my stuff. But isn't that what life is about? Moving on to the next chapter?
So even though it's going to be new and different, and require some major adjustment on my part, I'm turning the page.