But, there's something about going into a new place, especially a new OLD place, that takes some getting used to.
They [my housemates] have officially vacated the premises. Apartment empty, keys on the counter. Syonara, nice knowing ya. So, I decided to go down into the empty apartment and just walk around and take in the feel all by my lonesome.
That was................... creepy. I've been in there a number of times, and have always felt warm and welcomed; felt envious that the apartment down there was so much "nicer" than mine upstairs. So much larger, "so much space in the master bedroom!" Loved to visit and sit a spell.
But to go down there just now, and walk around that biiiiggg ole empty apartment, void of any personality and warmth, flaws sticking out like a sore thumb and or nuisance, walking from room to room trying to gauge the vibe of the place, it was..... weird. (In a different way than I am.)
Now, this acknowledgement is in no way to discount the excitement I do have in moving down there, and the anticipation of nurturing a new home from scratch with my brother. But jeez. I didn't feel easy. I was nervous (and a little melancholy). Nervous that the flaws of the apartment would somehow deter my excitement of having wanted to move down there for so long. Nervous that my brother and I living together would end up being more problematic than beneficial. Nervous that I'd love living with him, and then before long he will be ready to move on with his life. (After all, a brother and sister cannot live together forever, and he very well may find a love and move on before I ever find a love to settle down with.) Nervous that it's not entirely a bright idea to completely refurnish an apartment with new EVERYTHING, even if we can afford it. Nervous that all the old furniture coming down into the new place would be just as problematic as buying new furniture, but for completely different reasons. Nervous that I'll possibly get a cat when I've never wanted to own a cat... Nervous that there will be a mice problem if I don't, when I still am not altogether comfortable with the idea of owning a pet (even if I don't have to take care of it by myself).
I was just nervous. So glad that Daddy will be spending the first week and a half with me, I thought. I couldn't imagine having to be in a new place all by myself for the majority of the time. (I'm trying to remember how I felt after my mom left to go back home once I was all moved in.) I don't know when my brother will be moving in, and maybe I'm making myself sick about this move for no reason, but...... I'm not happy about it right now. But I am. I'm torn.
I'm happy to move into the new place, start a new chapter of my life (which, by the way, I have no idea what it will entail), but I'm just sick about leaving my home for the past five years. The same way I cried when I left DC for the last time after graduation, I feel that sense of closing of a chapter. No, I'm not crying, but this apartment has been a big part of my life. (Maybe I'm stating the obvious.)
This apartment was my haven and sanctuary. It was, it is my museum to all things ME. It has my personality written all over it. The antique furniture that was given to me and has suited me well. The pictures, flyers, cards and mementos on the wall indicate what I've experienced throughout the years. The idiosyncrasies that I hate, I know how to deal with. It's never too quiet, because I know the place and it's completely peace. I am comfortable to sleep, dance or play however I like in here. I've not had too many friends over, but the love of my life has spent many hours, days, weeks, years here; even if he never resided here with me we've had so many good times in this apartment and I feel like the memories of our ill-fated relationship have a home here.
The very first time I set foot in this apartment, I knew it was for me. And I've never doubted that from all the time I've spent in here.
But the apartment downstairs. I don't know. I guess this is what cold feet feels like. I mean, it's just an apartment. I'm not marrying it. I won't be there forever, I don't even have a one-year lease... but when I move into a place, I intend to stay a while. I do intend to stay a while. So perhaps knowing that I have that intention straight up, then whatever is waiting for me down there will have work within the framework of "THIS IS MY NEW HOME PERIOD" and it is what I've chosen. I guess kinda like when you say "I'm marrying you, and divorce is not an option," I feel like I want to declare that I'm moving down there, and I'm not moving again until it's into a home with my name on the deed.
And I am declaring that, because I hate moving. And this time I have the unfortunate responsibility to sift through and pack up my whole life by myself. You never feel more alone/single than when it's time for you to do something that you really need help with, and there's no one around or available and willing. But, that's a whole nother story. But since I've barely put a dent into this project (as my mother would call it: project), I should end this and get back to sorting and packing (in between shredding and tossing). I pray that I get finished sooner rather than later. AND perhaps this will be a lesson in how not to keep so many things when I move down into the next apartment. But I'm a sentimental packrat, so there's always justification in my mind for keeping something as opposed to tossing it out. (All the more reason why I need someone here helping me along with the process.)
(sigh.) I just keep reminding myself that all of this is a necessary evil to the blessing waiting on the other side. Growing pains, the rain clears the clouds for the sun. The darkest part of the night before day break... All of that.
That must be what this is.
(okay. back to work.)