I have written seven half-blogs today. Seven half-good, half-sucky blogs. I try not to post anything I think is crap, because it’s my blog and my writing and if I hate it how can I force internet photos of pandas to be a part of it? I can’t concentrate with my heart in a glass case of emotion.
Today is the kickoff of a lot of good-byes for me. My coworker just left. We’ll still be friends, but her departure was sadder than I thought it would be. It’s a big change in a weekend replete with changes.
Tomorrow, I pack up my apartment in earnest and prepare for the big move to Brooklyn. I have loved my apartment. I have hated my apartment. I’ve seen mice and roaches. I’ve fallen in love in that apartment and endured a rough break-up. I’ve heard a grown man remixing Pink’s early work in that apartment, to its detriment. I have dared someone to try to break a plate in that apartment and then crowed triumphantly when it didn’t break because it’s Correll and I am a genius (alcohol was involved). I have become the mean old lady upstairs and called the police on the whippersnappers below who played drums late into the night. I’ve seen the trash outside go from being rat-infested to being rat-free. I have become the master of craigslist, making hundreds of dollars off of mannequins, couches, and other cast offs from inhabitants long gone.
I have fought tooth and nail for that apartment, evicting people who weren’t acting right (dirty, debt-y) and brought down the rent through tenacious negotiating, being like, “That’s too much rent,” and having my landlord be all, “Ok.” Tenacious.
My apartment has been my safe haven for six years. The walls are Smurf blue, the floor slowly disintegrating wood. I know every inch of my place and have loved it dearly. Having been together longer than most celebrity marriages, I can never think of my apartment without a twinge in my heart. The life I had there made me tough and brave, or at least tougher and braver. I’m excited to begin my new life in my new borough and it’s important to remind my Steel Magnolias heart that I’m just moving, not entering the witness protection program or being cast out by my father for marrying a gentile. But my heart is still heavy today.
*Fun Fact: I only know that one line of the song, in the tune of the riff near the end. Not a great thing to have stuck in your head on sad Friday.