So it's my last night in this apartment before the madness of actual moving begins tomorrow morning. I feel that I should say something reflective. Because this was a sort of big-deal place for me to live: I moved here almost exactly three years ago, following the destruction of a cohabitational relationship. I basically fled the place I'd been sharing with my then-boyfriend--which shouldn't give you the wrong idea: he wasn't a scary person or anything, it just took me a REALLY long time to end the relationship and I knew that if I didn't leave immediately I'd've waffled and probably stayed with him for even longer. So when I rented this apartment, I had a suitcase with me, and that was about it. The rest of my stuff was still in the shared apartment, and didn't arrive for about a week.
I remember that first night really well. I was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, feeling a little bit repulsed by the floor (which wasn't filthy but needed a mopping), eating a sandwich I'd made off of a paper plate. It was the first night that I'd been alone since my boyfriend and I had broken up a week and a half earlier. The apartment was empty, and this one room that was painted bright red was sort of staring at me. (Repainting it was my first order of business that week.) I felt...strange. Excited about the new apartment, and the whole starting-over point of my life that I was in: I'd been dating my ex since the start of grad school, pretty much, and we'd spent the previous year living in a city about an hour away from campus. So I was looking forward to starting up my new, independent life. But I also had a weirdly edgy feeling, like the bottom could drop out of my excitement at any moment. I was anxious and wound up and vaguely upset.
And now it's been three years, my ficus is much taller, and the kitchen floor needs to be mopped again. It's been a really good three years. I got to do some things that I'd wanted to try, like hip-hop dance classes and intramural soccer. I made a bunch of new friends right after the break up and sort of drifted away from them within the next year, but my older friendships got stronger and better once I was back in GradCity and on my own. I've spent a lot of time in these rooms, working or messing around or making stuff or just watching TV and eating cookies, very happily alone. And I've also spent a good bit of time missing the (current) boyfriend, who only lived in this town for about 4 months of our relationship.
None of this is very profound. My feelings right now aren't very profound. Mostly I just want to be done with the driving and loading and whatnot, and to actually see my new apartment. This whole radically different new life upon which I'm about to embark is...unsettling, to say the least, but I kind of just want to tackle it, to know that it's not bad and scary and to make it work.
I'll tell you one thing I'll miss, though. I'll miss my yoga studio. I had my last class with my amazing teacher tonight, and it's sad to think that I might never see him again, or hear any more of his habitual, corny little jokes ("The good news is, we're going into the bow posture!" "And if you can't get into a full hanumanasana, don't worry, that just means that you'll never achieve enlightenment. No, I'm kidding. It doesn't matter").
Okay, off for a drink with J. In an air-conditioned bar. Whoo!